


Consummation and Commencement

by wingsandhorseshoes



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, Superwholock - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-08-13 04:24:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7962295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsandhorseshoes/pseuds/wingsandhorseshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a bout of unnatural weather that has almost everyone confused and concerned, circumstances begin to arise that absolutely baffle the Doctor and his companions. Things take an interesting turn when they meet people who's mere existence is enough to catch their attention. Everything that was once fact will now be second-guessed and new alliances will be made as well as new enemies. But one question still remains: is this the beginning of the End? Again? (Please take note, that if you are not caught up on the seasons of Supernatural, Sherlock, or Doctor Who, you may want to do so before you read this story as there may be SPOILERS)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Everyone who participates in making these beloved shows a reality](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Everyone+who+participates+in+making+these+beloved+shows+a+reality).



> Thank you for taking time to read this story, and I really hope you enjoy it. This fanfiction is nonprofit and is simply just an idea I had in passing that wouldn't leave me be. It is solely written for the enjoyment of the fans. I do not own any of the characters in this story, as they belong to their creators: Eric Kripke, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, and Donald Wilson, and any other wonderful minds who might have had a hand in the creation of these shows and characters that I might have missed. Anything that I use from the shows that doesn't belong to me besides the actual characters, such as scenes that are tweaked, will always be referenced at the end of a chapter. No copyright infringement is intended by the writing and creation of this story.

Most would have found that day a very beautiful one. Flowers had been blooming and filling the air with a sweet perfume, the sky was clear and while it was warm, there had been a slight breeze. A perfect day to be outside. He had meandered down the street, chewing his gum and listening to a symphony loudly to drown out the outside world. His mind had wandered as he stared blankly ahead, not caring where he went, as he thought of several things that might occupy his mind and thought on the many new little projects he was working on.  
The change in the atmosphere had brought him out of his thoughts as dark clouds rapidly formed in the sky, and streaks of electricity crackled every few seconds. People had stopped just as he had to look up at the sky as the clouds circled each other and a rumbling could be heard deep in the heavens. Something had not been right about the whole thing. Those things just don't happen. The ground had begun to quake and the wind had begun to blow with an intense force, rendering it very difficult to even remain standing firmly, and by then people had begun to panic. They had scrambled for cover, seeking some form of shelter, screaming.  
Moriarty had flinched here and there at the intensity of the lightning and wind that was growing in power with each flash as an involuntary response to the apocalyptic weather. In his mind he frantically searched for any possible explanations for what he was witnessing, but came up with nothing.  
Finally, with one last crack that shook the earth with a rippling effect, the sky had lit up with a blinding light. People had quickly covered their eyes against the light, and were knocked to the ground with the force of the quaking of the earth and wind. Moriarty was no exception, and he had cautiously opened his eyes to look up into the sky again. The lightning, as quickly as it had started up, had begun to quiet down as well as the wind, and the swirling clouds, though they had remained incredibly dark, had stopped swirling and remained there the rest of the day. The earth had stopped shaking just as suddenly as it had begun.  
Moriarty had quickly gotten up and hurried back to his flat. He had inquiries to make; he wanted answers.

***

That had been a week ago. Moriarty had found that no one could explain what had happened, where the strange storm and earthquake had come from or what was the cause. Everything had been normal. Experts were still trying to research the event, but there was nothing logical to explain the occurrence.   
Strangely enough, everything had seemingly returned to normal. Nothing to even suggest that anything had happened. If it weren't plastered all over the news, one would think it hadn't actually happened. This was a first for Moriarty to be so intrigued by, or interested in remotely, to the weather. He sat at his dining room table, sipping tea and reading the paper for any new news on the subject, when he became suddenly aware of another presence in the room.   
He slowly looked up from his paper, his expression calm but irritation bubbling slightly underneath his serene demeanor. The presence in question, a man in a beige coat and a black suit with a blue and white striped tie, stood leaning against the table with both of his hands in a way that was far too familiar and forward. The man had thick black hair, and his eyes were a deep blue, his body lean and fit. Moriarty took this all in with a sweep of his sharp brown eyes, assessing him. He seemed fairly common; how disappointing. Of all people to test the water with him, it would be someone common and unimpressive. Moriarty lowered the paper slowly and just stared at his unwelcome guest with a well-worn poker face, expecting the man to react in some way to his blank stare. However the man just smiled, surprising Moriarty ever so slightly. He had not expected that.  
"Well, hello there handsome. I thought it fitting we met," the man said in a gravelly voice that dripped with easy confidence, even a little bit of humor, his accent prominently American. Now Moriarty was becoming more and more irritated with this fool. Mediocrity and an over-inflated self-confidence was always such a nuisance.  
"Are you lost, little boy?" Moriarty said jokingly but with a menacing undertone.  
"Now, see, you're one of the only one of my father's... creations... that I can actually stand to have around," he said, stepping around the table almost lazily. "You aren't just one of the usual little coagulation of blood, mud and water just stumbling around in a righteous stupor. You are smart enough to see the potential this creation of crap could have actually been. That's why I have a little job for you to do." He stopped in front of where Moriarty still sat, leaning against the table and folding his arms as he smiled a little half smile, Moriarty's paper now crumpled in between the man's ass and the table. Slowly Moriarty stood up, his anger beginning to glimmer in his eyes, but his expression still stoic.  
"You seem to think that coming in here and acting like a twat will get you somewhere. Please, state what you want and do yourself and the world a favor and take a long walk off a short pier," Moriarty said, his tone cool and calm. To his surprise, the man actually laughed, and reached up to pinch Moriarty's cheek.  
"Oh, aren't you a cute little thing!" Moriarty's stoic demeanor faltered as anger flickered across his features.  
"Who the hell are you?" The man put a finger to his lips in an amused way, like he was watching a toddler, his eyebrows raised, and smiling cheekily.   
"Perfect choice of words actually. I'm the Devil," he answered with a little chuckle. This made Moriarty scoff, now stepping closer so he was inches from the man's face.  
"That's quite ambitious of you," he said calmly. The man laughed a little, clearly unfazed by the close proximity or the danger of an angry Moriarty. He looked directly in his eyes, inches from Moriarty's face.  
"You have no idea," he said, and with a little flick of his finger, Moriarty flew back into the far wall on the other side of the room. He could not move at all, but what really got his attention was that he was suspended against the wall with nothing holding him up. He tried to force himself away from the wall, but it was in vain. The man lazily sauntered over to Moriarty, amusement in his eyes.  
"I like you. You are just what I need. Get ready for the ride of a lifetime, Jimmy. I'm about to make your dreams come true." Moriarty took this in, considering the details and implications. The Devil wanting to make him an offer. This could get interesting.

***

Rose Tyler stood over the crib belonging to her eighteen month old son, admiring his big, beautiful, brown eyes as he watched the mobile spin around and play "Rock-a-Bye Baby". She and the Doctor, or Ten as she sometimes referred to him, the Meta-Crisis Doctor that the original Doctor had left her with, had named him Don Noble Tyler, after their friend Donna Noble. Names were a funny thing in their household. Often times, people wondered at her Doctor's choice in name, as they did with the original Doctor, but after a while, they had started to call him by his alias of John Smith to strangers. She could hear him answer the phone downstairs, which had started ringing incessantly. After a few minutes, he came upstairs and poked his head in the room.  
"Rose, Torchwood just called, they need us to come in. Said it's urgent." Rose glanced at him, then smiled.  
"Alright, give me just a moment to call Jenna and get her to babysit." Rose pulled out her cellular phone and dialed their nanny's number. A few moments later, Jenna was situated to babysit, and they were out the door and headed to Torchwood. They worked there ever since their last encounter with the original Doctor, leading a semi-normal life.  
Upon arriving at Torchwood, they quickly headed into the main control room, ready to help with whatever sort of issue they were to be tasked with.  
"Doctor, Rose, we have someone of great importance who wishes to speak with you urgently. It seems we may have might have a lead on happened last week with that freak natural disaster." This was big news. No one had yet figured out what exactly had happened, or what the cause had been. Even the Doctor had been at a loss, though he could smell and taste a pure raw energy in the air that was left behind as a result.   
They were led into another room, one that was more private, and there stood a very tall man leaning on an umbrella, and a woman with dark hair who was busy with her phone. The man smiled as they entered the room.  
"Ah, the Doctor and Rose Tyler. I've heard a great deal about you. A pleasure," he said with a smile, and though his tone was pleasant, it held a hint of arrogance.  
"Hello. May I ask whom we have the pleasure of addressing?" Ten responded politely. Rose watched them carefully, but remained silent, letting the Doctor take the lead.  
"My name is Mycroft Holmes. I hold a...minor... position within the British government." A broad smile broke out on the Doctor's face and recognition filled his eyes.  
"Oh! Isn't that just wizard!" he beamed, the Meta-Doctor's Donna side showing slightly. "What a pleasure to meet you! I wasn't actually sure I'd ever meet you! Well, strictly speaking, I wasn't even aware that you were even real, but look at you! Standing there, real as rain!" He stepped forward and grabbed Mycroft's hand, shaking it vigorously. Mycroft pulled a startled face at the Doctor's forward and impertinent behavior. He pulled his hand away.  
"If you don't mind, sir," he said, attempting to collect himself. Rose gave a little smile as she and Ten exchanged a look, amused by his excitement.  
"Hold on, Mycroft Holmes? Wasn't that Sherlock Holmes' older brother from those books by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?" Rose asked with confusion.  
"Oh yes!" Doctor exclaimed, and turned back towards Mycroft. "But I'm not sure I understand, how can that be possible. Unless your parents were big fans?" Mycroft strode over to a nearby chair and sat, crossing his legs.  
"I can assure you, I am the only Mycroft Holmes. Now please, allow me to fill you in as to why I have paid you a visit. A week ago, you may recall the events that the whole of the world is deeming impossible. It seems that those events had a far greater effect on a much larger scale. As of a week ago, there had been absolutely no knowledge of what Torchwood was, and much less of it's existence. It wasn't until a day later we discovered this new branch that no one had even heard of, as well as another branch called U.N.I.T. Now, I of course had my people look into your little organization, and there are records and documentation of events that are impossible." The Doctor and Rose slowly sat down in the chairs that were set up parallel to Mycroft's, taking in all of this new information. How had no one known of Torchwood or U.N.I.T.? Even the queen was aware of Torchwood and of the Doctor's existence.  
"The exact details of all of these odd events still remain inexplicable, but we are still trying to gain further knowledge. Now, you refer to me as someone from some sort of book, and this whole organization is claiming to be dedicated to protecting the earth from aliens. Have you any idea how truly mad all of you are making out to be?" Mycroft looked between the two sitting in front of him, awaiting an explanation. The Doctor and Rose looked at each other, gauging how to address this man's question, before the the Doctor finally answered.  
"I know that this might be difficult to understand Mr. Holmes, but aliens really are real. Look at me, I'm living proof. I'm a Time Lord! Well, part Time Lord, wasn't even born normally, just sort of grown. A Meta-Crisis Doctor, but that's a story for another time. Now, to address those strange happenings, I have been studying the atmosphere for any other oddities, and I have been noticing that the universe seems to have been stretched out in some way, like this reality had gained more to it than it had before. There are more stars now in the sky than were a week ago and they're in different positions as well as many other little differences. Now that I've met you, that sort of explains things a little more." Ten scratched at the back of his head, as he usually did when his mind wandered. Mycroft looked directly at the Doctor.  
"Please, do explain."  
"Well, in our universe, Mycroft Holmes is a character in a series of books about a famous detective named Sherlock Holmes, but as far as we knew, these characters were fictional and were set in Victorian England. But, if what you are claiming is true, and there was indeed no existence of Torchwood in your universe, then somehow our two universes must have collided. But what I can't figure out is how. Something like that should not have been possible." There was a beat of silence as Mycroft stared at them through squinted eyes, assessing their body language.  
"I never thought I would live to see the day when I would admit to something of this nature, but I believe you Doctor." The Doctor smiled ear to ear at being able to prove himself to a man who was supposed to be an even more incredible genius than the incredible Sherlock Holmes himself. Rose grinned as well.  
"Now, where does all of this leave us? Are we all safe?" Mycroft questioned.  
"That is an excellent question. Figuratively, if it is just our two universes, we should all be relatively safe. However, if there are any other universes that happened to collide as well, then that could be a bit of a problem.  
"See, there are thousands of individual universes, piled one right next to another in the fabric of time and reality. Each one is different and unique, but I have to admit, this is the first time I've seen one where a character, sorry, a person, who was supposed to be fictional, was an actual living human being. It's fantastic actually."  
"So I suppose then that our next steps are to find out just how many of these universes have actually collided before we can proceed." It was not a question. Mycroft could make that deduction on his own.  
"Yes. And the sooner, the better. Who knows who else we could be facing."  
"Well, then," Mycroft stood and straightened his suit. "Doctor, Rose, if you would be so kind as to come with us." Rose and the Doctor stood.  
"So where are we off to then?" Rose questioned.  
"Off to recruit the only consulting detective in existence himself, Sherlock Holmes. Come on, Allons-y!" And with that, they all exited, Mycroft rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh at the Doctor. For someone who was supposed to be an incredible genius, he was was certainly an idiot. But then a slight smile crossed his lips, but only for a second. Sort of like his kid brother.  
They had walked down the hall a little ways before a voice very familiar to Rose and The Doctor called out to them and made them freeze in their tracks.  
"Doctor? Rose!" How was that possible? He had been left in the other Doctor's dimension. They turned around and saw Captain Jack Harkness trotting down the hall toward them. Rose and the Doctor backtracked, meeting up with Jack halfway. Jack embraced both of them in a hug, laughing brightly.  
"Jack? How-?" Rose stammered, bewildered at Jack's presence.  
"I don't know! I returned from a bit of a vacation and after this weird event with the weather, I noticed a lot of really strange things, including not only a Torchwood, but you two on the payroll. But if you guys are here, and I'm here, then that means-"  
"It means that your universe has collided as well, which also means that the original Doctor is out there somewhere. Good, we may need him. Come with us, Jack, we will fill you in on the way. We have a detective to meet."

***

"So, Sherlock, have you gotten any leads on the whereabouts of Moriarty?" Mary questioned, taking the cup of tea that John had brought out for her before he sat down on the couch beside her with his own cup. She took a sip and then rested it on her now massive belly, both of her hands cupped around the warm teacup. Sherlock sat in his usual black chair, his fingers pressed together and poised on his mouth as he stared into space.  
"Not as of yet. He has not made any sort of contact or moves that we know of since his stunt with the telly high-jack. But question is, why?" John sipped at his tea, then placed his cup on the table beside the couch.  
"Well, let's just be thankful nothing has happened yet. Better he doesn't make any moves than going on a crime spree," He said.   
"Yes, but what crimes has he committed in the dark so far? And what is he planning" Sherlock shot up out of his chair and began to pace in front of the fireplace, silent and in thought. Mary and John exchanged a glance.  
"Have you heard on the telly about that freak weather we had? Seems the whole planet was affected. They said that reports of the exact strange occurrence have been pouring in all over the globe," Mary said conversationally, trying to break the awkward silence.  
"No, no, that's not important now. Why haven't there been any crimes in over a week, is a much better question. God, how do you people deal with this... docility?" Sherlock paced faster. John stood up and crossed the room, placing his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and forced him to sit down.  
"Here, sit here and I'll make you a cup of tea as well. Maybe it will help you relax a bit." Normally Sherlock would have protested and stood back up, maybe even have shouted at John to leave him be, just find him a case. However, John wasn't around as much as he used to be, what with a very pregnant wife. He would never admit to it, but he was enjoying the attention. Mary sat up a bit, setting her cup on the other end table.  
"Here, Sherlock, I'll play a game of chess with you, if you'd like." Sherlock looked at her, then conceded. It was better than nothing. John brought the tea in for Sherlock, who absently took it and sipped at it. That was when they heard Mrs. Hudson down the stairs opening the door, and inviting someone in. Mycroft, from the sounds of it. Only, from the sounds of the footfalls, he was not alone. Now that was odd.  
Mycroft Holmes entered the room, followed by two men, one dressed in a blue suit with red converse and a brown trench coat, and the other dressed in a blue button down shirt and pants held up with a belt and suspenders with a dark blue military coat, and a blonde woman with big brown eyes. She was dressed in a blue jacket, jeans and white shoes. Sherlock sat up with interest, for if Mycroft was bringing guests with him, it was no social visit. They were clients, and guaranteed to be interesting ones at that.  
"Hello Mycroft. Friends of yours?" John greeted politely, nodding to the three people standing behind him.  
"Hello John, Mary, brother mine. This is Rose Tyler, The Doctor, and Jack Harkness. They have come to talk to you about something I'm sure you will find... interesting." The man in the brown trench coat was beaming. Sherlock took one look at them, assessing them.  
"Yes, what is it?" He said, turning back to the chess game and making a move.  
"We came to talk about the strange occurrences last-" The Doctor started, but was cut off.  
"No." The Doctor quit beaming, taken aback by being shot down without any details. Rose and Jack couldn't help themselves, smiling amusedly at Ten's reaction.  
"I'm sorry?"  
"No, as in 'no, I am not entertaining any thoughts on what could have caused the strange occurrence'. I am not interested in the weather or what could have caused it. Really, Mycroft, I would expect more from you. I have more important things to focus on than meteorology." Mycroft approached Sherlock, a slight smile on his lips.  
"I assure you, Sherlock, this is something you will want in on. It is more than just unusual weather. This has become significant threat to the world as a whole. Now, please shut up and hear the man out." Sherlock sat back in his chair and glared at Mycroft a moment before turning his gaze back to the Doctor, the chess game forgotten. The Doctor cleared his throat and began again, more serious this time.  
"Well, as I said before, we came to talk to you about the peculiar event that happened a week ago. It seems we may have figured out what may have happened, and we are going to need your help on it, as long you don't have anything else going on."  
"What do you think happened?"  
"We believe that several different universes have collided and fused together." Sherlock stared at the Doctor before bursting out cackling. Even John and Mary laughed a little, but attempted to keep it quiet.  
"You're putting me on, is that it Mycroft? Do you really think me that much of a fool to buy into this bit? I mean, really Mycroft, this is truly pathetic! Anderson could come up with something better," Sherlock laughed again, but Mycroft remained silent, his face a mak of seriousness. When Mycroft made no move to reveal the joke, Sherlock's laughter fizzled out. Was he serious?  
"Seriously?"  
"Yes, seriously. I did not believe it either, but there is evidence not only in nature, but even in our own government systems and other branches, including sort of special ops. Torchwood, which is where these people were found. There are documentations, both written and recorded, of events that are entirely impossible; aliens, disasters, attacks. Something has happened, and it could be very bad if we don't get this under control as quickly as possible," Mycroft explained.  
"Well what exactly do you need me for then? Track down some little green men abducting and probing people?" Sherlock's tone was still a mocking one.  
"No, we can manage that ourselves, thanks," Rose answered, irritated. The Doctor put his hand out, stopping Rose from making any more snide comments, and answered him instead.  
"We need your help tracking down any other universes that might have collided as well as ours. So far, we have discovered three universes that have collided. Rose and mine, yours, and Captain Jack's here. But there could be others that collided as well, and those could pose considerable threats. And of course, who better to help track these other universes than the most famous detective and his assistant and friend John Watson?" John scoffed at this and Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
"Hang on, you cannot possibly expect us to believe this crock. You waltz in here spouting off about aliens and collided universes like it's the most natural thing in the world, and we're just supposed to believe it? Are you lot having some sort of meltdown?" John questioned, bewildered at the absurdity of it all. The Doctor turned towards him.  
"What if we could prove it?  
"And how exactly do you plan to do that? Make a crop circle? We don't have time for this," said Sherlock, turning to pick up his violin and testing the strings to make sure they were still in tune.  
"No. There is another me out there, the original Doctor, and he has a ship that can travel anywhere in time and space. Let's call him and bring him here. Would that be sufficient for you?" The Doctor asked. Sherlock thought for a moment, exchanged a look with John and Mary, then turned back to his insane company.  
"Very well, call this Doctor."

***

Crowley was at his wits end. He was tired of being constantly on the run from his own turncoat demons and from Lucifer. And now, here he was, standing in some abandoned warehouse, arguing some sort of deal with the Winchesters and they were being stubborn per usual. Crowley's deal was that they could have the Horn of Joshua, one of the Hands of God, as long as they exorcised Lucifer out of the angel Castiel's vessel and shoved him back into the Cage. But as of that moment, the boys were having a disagreement about whether or not it was right to save Castiel since, after all, he had been the one who made the decision to let Lucifer into his vessel in the first place. Squirrel was insistent that they save Castiel first and then deal with Lucifer. Moose, however, was adamant that they should respect Castiel's choice. It was his vessel after all, and surely he knew better than all of them what he was doing, right? But Crowley's patience was wearing thin. The time to make decisions was now.   
Amara was growing in strength. Only a week ago, she had tested her powers, sending a force so powerful into Heaven that it had shook the earth, and changed the weather in a matter of seconds. A blinding light had flashed, which could not have been good. Not to mention that Lucifer was loose and scouring the earth, playing his games, wreaking havoc, and searching out any other Hands of God and Crowley. Time was of the essence.   
Crowley opened his mouth to interrupt when there was a sudden wheezing sound, sort of like a key rubbing on a string in a piano, and that set them on edge. But what really took them by surprise was when a blue phone booth labeled "Police Box" materialized out of thin air a couple yards from where they stood. Dean drew out his gun, and Sam pulled out his little flask of Holy Water and the demon blade, mentally preparing for anything.  
The Doctor scrambled around the TARDIS' console, finishing the landing sequence before checking the screen and reading it. The TARDIS had once again taken control of the flight. From what he gathered from the screen, she had brought him to Earth, America, year 2016, in some old, weathered warehouse.  
"Why would you bring me here? This was supposed to be a quiet year, especially in America. What have you got up your sleeve, eh Sexy?" He adjusted his bowtie, and smiled his quirky half smile.  
"Alright, off adventuring then!" And with that, he stepped out of the door, only to run right into a gun barrel, it thumping his forehead hard.  
"Oi, ow! What's that for?" A splash of water soaked him completely down his front, shocking him completely. "Excuse me, but I did not need a bath, thanks! I'm clean. Sort of..." He trailed off, swiping the water from his face. Sam and Dean looked at each other, but did not relax.  
"Who and what are you?" Dean demanded, his tone coarse and threatening. The Doctor seemed unfazed, and retained his cheery demeanor.  
"I'm the Doctor. Just the Doctor, mind you. Mind explaining why you have soaked me? Do you just go around soaking all people you meet?" But Dean and Sam did not ease their stance, and Crowley watched curiously, a little more relaxed now that it'd been established he wasn't a demon.  
"Ok, Doctor, you still haven't told us what you are. Answers, now." The Doctor looked curiously at them.  
"How do you mean, 'what I am'?"  
"You just full on appeared out of thin air in a blue box. Now last I checked, people don't do that. So, what are you?"  
"I'm a Time Lord, from the planet called Gallifrey." They had not been expecting that answer. They looked at each other.  
"Ok, jokes over, Chuckles. Aliens don't exist. What are you really?"   
"No really, I'm telling the truth. I can prove it if you'd like." They considered this for a moment.  
"Fine. Prove it. But first," Sam held the demon blade out to him,"cut your arm with this." The Doctor pulled an astonished face.  
"Now why would I go and do that for? I'm perfectly happy the way I am, thanks."  
"We need proof that you're not a shapeshifter, revenant, anything of that sort," Sam explained.   
"Alright." Timidly, the Doctor took the blade, then after hesitating a moment, sliced a thin line across his hand with a small grunt in pain. Blood sprouted from the line, but there was no other reaction. He handed the blade back to Sam, and they relaxed a bit.  
"Okay, now that we've established that, please, step inside with me!" He turned back around and opened the little door of the Police Box and stepped inside, beckoning them in with him. Cautiously, they stepped inside, one behind the other. They instantly glanced around in amazement. "Welcome aboard the TARDIS!"  
"Ho-oly-" Dean couldn't get anything else out.  
"It's bigger-" Sam started.  
"On the inside. I know," The Doctor said with a satisfied smile. He loved it when they reacted like that. "Believe me now?" They could not answer. Even Crowley, who had followed them in, seemed at a loss for words. A few beats of silence passed before Sam spoke.   
"Wait, we've dealt with false aliens before. How do we know you're not altering reality?" He questioned, back on the defense. The smile disappeared from the Doctor's face.  
"Blimey, what do you blokes want? I show you a ship with a massive interior inside a tiny outer shell, and your response is you want more proof? Is that not good enough for you?"  
"Look, we've got bigger things going on! Cut the crap and tell us who you are and what you want!" Dean shouted, genuinely pissed off. The Doctor raised his hands up defensively.  
"I told you, I'm the Doctor, an alien, honest! I just popped in for a visit. I do that from time to time." After a moment, Dean lowered the gun and all relaxed a little.  
"Aliens? This just fan-fucking-tastic. Could this possibly get any more messed up?"  
"Calm down, Dean. Let's just think this through," Sam reassured, but Dean wasn't having it.  
"No, Sam. How much more of a mess is going to come out of this?" This caught the Doctor's attention.   
"Hang on, out of what? What mess?"   
"Stow it, Chinny. We've got bigger things in the works here. Shut up and let the adults talk for a minute," Dean said, and then turned back to Sam, but the Doctor was not giving in that easily.  
"No, really, what's going on? Maybe I can help. I do that," he said. Dean heaved an exasperated sigh, and Sam answered him instead.  
"We're trying to stop the apocalypse." Well the Doctor was certainly used to that kind of thing, so he clapped his hands together.  
"Alright, so what this time? Daleks? Cybermen? Slitheen?" All three men looked at the Doctor like he had lost his mind. They had never heard any of these things.  
"No, more like the religious type apocalypse," Sam said. The Doctor paused. Now it was his turn to be skeptical.  
"Oh come on now, that's impossible. I travel all over space and time and the only type of apocalypses I've seen have been man-made or by hostile takeover, and those happens thousands of years later. Your world is not ending. What would even give you that idea?"  
"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact Lucifer is running free and the Darkness is getting to stretch her legs after centuries locked away!" Dean shouted. They didn't have time for this. However, the Doctor waved it off.  
"Lucifer? He's not real. Just an idea," he said, and the three men just stared at him.  
"Look pal-" Dean started, but was cut off when a phone started ringing, and the Doctor's eyes widened as he frantically searched and answered it. This phone had not rang out for some time.  
"Hello?"  
"Doctor?" Captain Jack Harkness' voice rang through on the other end. Now that was a surprise!  
"Jack! Good to hear from you! God, seems like forever ago since we last-"  
"Doctor, this is an urgent call." The Doctor immediately got serious.  
"What is it, what's happened?"  
"Well, first off, you'll never believe who I've got standing with me here." The Doctor remained silent as there was a shuffling, like someone passing the phone over to someone else.  
"Doctor?" That voice. But... how? All other thoughts came to a shrieking halt.  
"Rose?" He could hear the smile in her voice.  
"Yeah. God, you sound different." The Doctor grabbed the console to support himself, Dean and Sam moving to catch him should he fall.  
"How- I mean-"  
"I'm not entirely sure, but it seems like a handful of universes have collided, including both of ours. It's a bit much to explain over the phone. Could you perhaps meet us?"  
"Yes, what's the address?"  
"221B Baker Street, London."  
"On my way." And with that, he hung up, flung the phone at Crowley, who caught it just barley, and frantically pushed buttons and pulled levers on the console of the TARDIS. It began to wheeze again as it started to take off.  
"Hold on, where are we going?" Dean demanded.  
"London. There's an emergency, and I believe you two are a part of it. I suggest holding on to something." Dean, Sam, and Crowley all scrambled to grab something stable to hold on to, and held on tightly as the whole ship shook and rocked, Dean shouting all the way. He hated flying.

***

Moriarty followed Lucifer into a dimly lit, medieval type, throne room, where two chairs sat facing a bigger chair, a throne; an audience for a king. In one of the chairs sat a man in a black suit with a black tie lounging lazily with one leg draped over the arm of the chair. He was playing with a knife which he had apparently found on display across the room, humming a little tune; four beats, repeating. He had dark blond hair, and his eyes were a greenish-blue.  
Upon the arrival of the two, the man lifted his gaze to them, interest now filling his once dull eyes. Lucifer motioned politely to the unoccupied chair beside the other man, which Moriarty took, leaning back, crossing his legs, and looking at Lucifer with his poker face again, awaiting the proposition.  
The Master gave a little sideways glance to the man in the chair beside him, taking him in. Dressed in a grey suit with a white shirt and tie, Moriarty was one of the better looking humans the Master had seen; dark brown hair and big brown eyes, with a fit body and classy taste in fashion. Moriarty did not return the look, but remained looking forward. The Master noticed how his eyes opened and closed slowly, the only thing reflected in his eyes was mild interest and boredom.  
Lucifer walked up to the throne and sat down slowly, leaning his elbows on his knees and folding his hands, a smile playing on his face.   
"Can I get you boys anything?" he asked in a cheery tone. Both of them continued to look at him in silence; the Master in silent defiance, and Moriarty just wanting him to get to the point.  
"Straight to the point then. Excellent." He smiled wider and leaned back. "I wish my lackeys were as efficient as you boys. Allow me to introduce you to each other. Jim Moriarty, meet Harold Saxon." The Master looked at Lucifer with a look of indignation.  
"It's the Master," he corrected. Lucifer merely smiled again and gave a little chuckle before he continued.  
"Mr. Saxon, meet Jim Moriarty, arch nemesis of the famous Sherlock Holmes himself." Moriarty and the Master looked at each other, eyes meeting.   
"Pleasure," Moriarty said nodding slightly. The Master smiled ever so slightly.  
"Likewise." They turned back toward Lucifer.  
"Good. Now that the class has all been introduced, let's address the big elephant in the room. I've looked into the both of you, and man I've got to admit, I am really impressed with you two. Your work, it's art. And it makes you perfect for my little operation. See, I can't be everywhere at once, and there is so much to do. So I want to appoint you two as my... business partners. Thoughts?"  
"Well that depends on what exactly that all includes, doesn't it," The Master said, cocking an eyebrow. Moriarty merely continued to stare.   
"Precisely, my friends. As you both well know, we all have our own pain in the neck 'heroes' that we have to deal with, and in these endeavors, they have to be dealt with. So, here's what I'll require from you boys. Moriarty: I want you to stretch your hands out through your little crime web and create the biggest crime wave this world has ever seen. Orchestrate a symphony of crime and chaos so great, that police and authority figures won't know what to do with themselves. Don't make it easy for them at all.   
"Now, Mr. Saxon, I'm aware of your endeavors as Prime Minister some time ago, and I would love to make that possible for you again. By doing this, I would like you to give the people a hero to look up to, but also to lead them astray. Guide them to their downfall like the sheep they are. Turn them against each other, encourage lewdness under liberating pretenses, drag them down with a smile. What do you boys say? Friends?" Lucifer smiled a charming smile. Moriarty looked away, looking around slowly at the room.  
"And what exactly is in this for us?"He said, sounding slightly disinterested.  
"Well, once everything has been brought under my control, I'll need someone in each place to look after things while I'm not there. Mr. Saxon, in the end, you'll be ruler of the earth and all of it's contents and luxuries. The whole world at your fingertips; your playground. And Moriarty, I'll need you here in Hell. See, it came to my attention some time ago that our previous connoisseur of the art of torture was... dispatched by some pains in my neck, and needless to say, Hell is in need of some professional renovations. I would need you here to get things running in top shape again. And the beauty of Hell is that it doesn't have the restrictions of reality. It leaves room for creativity and new innovations. Both of you will have demons to carry out your bidding; they tend to be more efficient and competent than human lackeys. Anything else you boys might be needing, all you have to do is ask. I'll give you a moment to think this through. Excuse me." And with that he strode out of the room, still slightly smiling.  
Moriarty and the Master each sat in silence, considering the offer on the table. The Master resumed playing with the knife he had, balancing it on his finger as he thought, while Moriarty just remained still, staring straight ahead. In their minds, they ran over the possibilities and the repercussions.  
"So, Moriarty was it? You considering taking the Big Man up on his deal?" The Master asked conversationally. Moriarty turned to look at the Master, a slight smile playing on his lips.  
"Hoping I'll stick around, are you?" The Master looked up coyly from the knife in his hands, and smiled in return.  
"Could be an interesting duo, you and I. Ne'er a dull moment between us."  
"Interesting indeed," replied Moriarty, looking the Master in the eye. They did not continue their conversation, but merely looked at each other a moment longer, assessing each other, before returning to their own thoughts. A few minutes later, a blood curdling scream could be heard a few rooms away, and Lucifer came back in, wiping blood from his hands on a little towel, and stood in front of them.  
"Alright boys, what do you say? Want to join the party?" Both the Master and Moriarty looked at each other again before standing up. The Master smiled broadly and offered his hand.  
"I'm in," he said as Lucifer grinned and shook his hand and clapped a hand on his shoulder.  
"Excellent. And you?" he asked as he turned to Moriarty. Moriarty straightened his suit and extended his hand as well.  
"I always did think the side of the angels was boring."

***

Sherlock was back to sitting in his chair with his hands pressed to his lips as he usually did, waiting for this so-called alien to arrive. He could not believe that they were wasting time with this nonsense. The only thing that made him pause instead of just continuing to refuse them outright was the fact that Mycroft was so intent on him giving them his attention.  
Mycroft had never been prone to practical jokes, and he especially did not waste time with most people, let alone anything that wasn't cold, hard fact. So that meant that either there really was something extraordinary going on, or Mycroft and the people accompanying him were having some sort of delusions.   
The guests that had come with Mycroft had made the call and were now sitting and standing around the flat, conversing with John and Mary. This was good. That meant he didn't have to put in any sort of effort into the conversation. He could focus on the more important things at hand while they wasted their time. Moments later, a strange wheezing came from downstairs, and much to everyone's surprise Mrs. Hudson shouted out.  
Sherlock got up and rushed downstairs, with John in tow, in response to her call in distress. They immediately stopped when they got to the bottom of the stairs and saw a blue police box standing in front of the door. Neither John nor Sherlock could believe their eyes. Especially when moments later a young man with suspenders and a bowtie stepped out.  
"Alright, I'm here. Someone please explain what is going on here," the Doctor's eleventh regeneration said, catching Rose and Jack's eyes as they came down the stairs as well. Sherlock stared dumbfounded as he and John grasped for some sort of reasonable explanation.  
"How the bloody hell did you get that in here?" John asked.  
"Simple, I landed it," Eleven responded. "Here see for yourself, just don't touch anything." He gestured inside and stepped forward to greet Jack and Rose. Sherlock and John looked at each other and went inside the TARDIS, immediately stopping in shock.  
"Yeah, we did the same thing," said a very tall man with long brown hair. He and two other men were standing on the other side of the console. John turned to Sherlock, searching his face.  
"Sherlock?" Sherlock could not answer. He thought and thought about how this could have been possible, but came up with nothing. There was no way that someone could have built this in such a small amount of time and without drawing attention to themselves. No one could make such an immense spacious interior in such a small phone booth. It just simply was not possible.   
Meanwhile, outside the TARDIS, Eleven, Rose, Jack and Ten were conversing, filling Eleven in on their findings and what they had come up with. Rose complimented the Doctor's new appearance, though it was obvious that she longed for his previous regeneration, and from that point on, she stuck very close to Ten, always holding his hand. Mrs. Hudson, having now recovered herself enough to speak, approached them.  
"Excuse me, dears, but what is this odd construction doing in my foyer?" Eleven turned towards her and beamed.  
"Ah, you must be Mrs. Hudson then. That's just my ship. Quite convenient for traveling, can fit right inside the room."  
"Oh, well, if you'd please, move it outside? It's a bit cramped in here enough without it blocking the doorway."  
"Oh! Yes of course! One moment." Eleven ran into the TARDIS and began pulling and pushing on levers and buttons on the console. Sherlock had his hands on his knees and John was trying to calm him down, while his other three guests quietly conversed amongst themselves. A moment later, the TARDIS was parked right outside of 221B Baker Street.  
"Come along, boys. It seems we all have a lot to talk about," Eleven said, ushering everyone out and up into the flat. Sherlock rushed out with John close on his tail, running upstairs.   
"That's my line," muttered Crowley under his breath. Dean, Sam, and Crowley followed the Doctor up at a more manageable pace, closing the doors behind them.   
Finally up in Sherlock's flat, which was now considerably cramped, Sherlock scrambled around, searching for something that might wake him up from this delusion, or dream, or whatever it was he was in. Had he overdosed? Was he asleep? Or had he actually lost his mind after all? This last one scared him considerably, since his mind was one thing he had always been able to rely on, apart from John.   
"Come on, Sherlock, let's just calm down. Surely there's gotta be a reasonable explanation for all this. I mean, how could we all be having the same sort of hallucination, right? This isn't Baskerville, after all, this is your own flat. Let's just sit and calmly talk about this." John was worried about Sherlock.  
"Don't you see, John? It is exactly like Baskerville! All of us! But how? How! It's possible they could have snuck in here at some point and planted some sort of hallucinogen, but how could it be affecting all of us all right at this exact moment? We've all come from different places and been here for varying lengths of time!" Sherlock continued searching, but found nothing. After some more reasoning and pleading, John finally persuaded Sherlock to sit and just talk with their... guests... and maybe the hallucinogen, or whatever it was, would eventually wear off. They both sat in their respective chairs, trying to calm down. Mary came over and sat on the arm of John's chair, taking his hand in hers, trying to be of comfort.  
"Ok, seriously, who the hell is going to explain what is going on?" Dean said, officially at his wits end. No one had paid them any mind, and at this sudden outburst, all turned to look at them.  
"Right, sorry, everyone, this is... I'm sorry but I seem to have forgotten your names, what were they again?" Eleven said, turning to them fully.   
"We never told our friggin' names, you just took off with us in your spaceship!" Dean shouted, and Sam placed a hand on his shoulder, a reminder to stay calm.   
"What are your names then? Are you new companions?" Rose asked curiously.  
"What? No! I'm Dean, this is Sam and that's Crowley. And we have got to get back to where we came from, now!"  
"Dean, chill out man," Sam said, though he was beginning to get frustrated too.   
"Calm down, I'm sure the Doctor will get you back. We have to get our current situation under control first," Jack jumped in.  
"Look, man, this can't possibly be any bigger than our problem. Just take us back and you can get back to whatever it is you are doing," Sam reasoned. At this, Eleven remembered something they had said before his phone call.  
"Hold on, what is it you said you boys were dealing with?" He asked.  
"The fuckin' apocalypse," Dean answered. Things were beginning to come together to the Doctors Ten and Eleven.  
"Hey! You're a guest here, let's refrain from cursing, ok boys?" Jack snapped. Dean turned to him, glared, and made to make a move toward Jack, but Sam and Crowley both put a hand out and stopped him. Dean jerked his arms out of their hands, but stayed where he was.  
"Ok, everybody just calm down. Dean, Sam, we need you to remain here with us. I think whatever it is you are dealing with could be a part of what we are dealing with too," Eleven explained. All eyes turned to them.  
"How do you figure that?" asked Sam. The Doctor, Ten, then launched into explaining about the freak weather and about how there were confirmed three universes now all combined into one, Rose putting in a word every once in a while. They explained about Sherlock's universe, their universe, and Eleven and Jack's universe, and about what exactly the Doctor, both of them in this instance, were.  
"So now, basically, we are going to try and track down any other universes that have collided before we take any next steps," Rose finished. John, Mary, and Mycroft all sat quietly, listening, and it seemed as though Sherlock had slipped into his mind palace.  
"Was the weather the reason you boys thought that the apocalypse was happening?" questioned Eleven, looking at them intensely. Dean and Sam exchanged a look.  
"Actually, yes. Though we know a bit more about the in-depth details than you all." This time it was Crowley who spoke, his voice low and gravelly. Everyone turned their attention to him, except for Sherlock, who seemed lost to the world.   
"And what might that be?" inquired Jack, the whole audience a bit more intrigued.  
"We know what caused the weather and the earth quake."  
"Oh, please, do enlighten us," Mycroft said, an amused smile playing on his mouth.   
"Is God's sister a good enough cause for you?" Dean stated, glaring at Mycroft. Everyone sat in silence, not knowing what to say. John scoffed.  
"Well that really takes the cake then, doesn't it? Freak weather, aliens, and now God's sister? You have all lost it!" He shouted. "None of these things are real!"  
"I resent that remark," Crowley said, and as he did, his eyes turned a bright red. There were shocked gasps all around the room, Mycroft's smile disappeared and John's mouth hung open, his eyes wide. Sherlock looked up at this, his eyes widening as he took in Crowley's glowing red eyes.  
"What the hell are you?" Rose demanded, holding Ten's hand tightly. Crowley looked to her, his eyes returning to their normal brown.  
"Crowley. King of Hell. Pleasure."  
"Wait, I know you! You're Canton Everett Delaware the Third! Ex-FBI agent, Washington, D.C., 1969?" Eleven exclaimed in recognition.  
"Sorry, mate. Someone else must share the same pretty face as me. FBI never interested me. Too prudish,"Crowley said with a dismissive wave of the hand.  
"Oh. But hang on, I thought the King of Hell's name was supposed to be Lucifer," Eleven quizzed as he pulled out his sonic screw driver and approached Crowley. The device buzzed and glowed a brilliant green as he scanned Crowley, who was giving the Doctor a look of utter confusion and a bit of annoyance.  
"Lucifer was locked in a cage in Hell, but now he's out and about, and part of the reason why we have to get back," Sam explained. A second later, the Doctor stared at the readings on the screwdriver.  
"Extraordinary! You're not an alien at all, but also something not human as well. I can't get a proper reading on you. But you can't really be something supernatural. I mean, there's an explaination for these types of things, and I should know. Met a ghost once, turned out to be someone trapped in a parallel dimenison was all," He beamed at encountering something new. Ten normally would have been joining Eleven, but Rose still held tightly to him, so he stayed with her.  
"Oh no, he's a demon alright. Here, see?" said Dean as he took a blade from his back pocket and proceeded to stab Crowley in the back. Everyone gasped in shock as Crowley grunted in pain for a second, but did not fall to the ground, nor did he bleed. He turned around to glare at Dean.  
"Was that really necessary?" Crowley growled. Dean shrugged.  
"I was in the moment," he said, brushing it off as though he had merely punched him in the arm.  
"You and you're theatrics," Crowley said, rolling his eyes and then pulled the blade out, handing it back to Dean. The apprehension in the room was thick.  
"How are you not dead?" questioned an amazed Mary.  
"It takes more than a mere stabbing to kill off a demon, let alone the King of Hell," Crowley huffed. Sherlock, having seen this whole thing, sat forward, eyes wide.  
"You really are all telling the truth, aren't you?" They all slowly nodded. "Well, as I've said before 'whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be truth'." With this, Sherlock stood slowly as if he was in a daze and went to the door.   
"Mrs. Hudson, could you please make some tea for our guests?" Mrs. Hudson replied that she would, but to not expect it every time and then reminded him, yet again, that she was not the housekeeper, but his landlady. But Sherlock did not hear, nor listen, to this, because he had already turned back and walked to his chair and sat down.  
"So, in counting now, that makes four dimensions total. Question now, is what do we do from here with this knowledge?" Sherlock mused, and people around the room shuffled.   
"We have to put a stop to Amara, so that's our next step. I don't know what is to be done about the dimensions, but that's a job for scientists. Amara and Lucifer are our main and only concern," said Dean, addressing the room.  
"What's the deal on this Amara and Lucifer? What's happened?" questioned Rose. Dean and Sam turned to her, then to the rest of the room. Explanation time.  
"Amara, or God's sister, has been released from whatever cage was holding her and now she is searching for her brother, trying to seek revenge. Lucifer was released from the cage in Hell and is now running rampant. We think that strange weather and earthquake was Amara stretching her legs. She seems to have powered up. My brother and I, and Crowley here, are the only ones who can stop them," Sam explained.  
"What makes you think that you're the only ones who can stop them? How did they get out?" quizzed Sherlock. Sam and Dean looked at each other, then to Crowley, who just shrugged. They turned back to the room.  
"We were raised on this type of stuff. It's our job; we do this type of thing every day. Amara was locked away and the key was a mark called the Mark of Cain. We got rid of the Mark because it was causing a lot of... trouble, and in doing so, it released Amara, or the Darkness. We thought Lucifer would be the only one to be able to lock Amara away again, so we went seeking his help. One thing led to another and he ended up getting loose again."  
"Wait a second, what were your names again?" asked Eleven. Dean and Sam gave him an odd look.  
"Sam and Dean," Dean answered. "Winchester." The Doctors Ten and Eleven looked at each other, astonishment filling their eyes.  
"Do you drive a '67 Chevy Impala, per chance?" Eleven asked. Dean's jaw clenched, and Sam straightened a little.  
"How did you know that," Dean demanded.  
"In my dimension there is a book series called-" Eleven started, but was interrupted by Dean.  
"Let me guess. Supernatural, by Carver Edlund?"  
"Yes, actually. How did-"  
"Those books exist in our world too. We know Edlund; Chuck actually. Turned out he was a Prophet."  
"So, everything in those books... they actually happened?" said Jack, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He had read the books out of mild interest throughout the years, when he needed some form of entertainment.  
"Yeah," answered Sam.   
"I'm sorry," Ten sympathized. "I'm so sorry." His eyes became sad, as did Eleven's. Even Jack's eyes seemed to soften. It had all been true.  
"Yeah, well, whatever. I hate those stupid books," Dean muttered.   
"Well, what happened?" asked Mary. What exactly had these boys been through?  
"Just drop it, alright? Look, we have to get back. Amara and Lucifer are circling each other, and they're both getting stronger and things are getting more dangerous. For everyone. Take us back so we can get back to work," Dean snapped.   
"Why don't we help you? Seems like you could use a few more helping hands," Jack offered.  
"No, that's not a good idea. You guys will just get hurt." Dean put his foot down. Enough innocent blood had been spilt at their expense.  
"And why not? We, too, have saved the world a few different times, what's one more time? Besides, we aren't going to just sit back on our arses and just let the world go to pot," Rose stated. She understood where these boys were coming from, but the end of the world was not something any of them should be taking lightly or gambling with.   
"Because when people run with us, they get hurt. Most of the time killed. I'm tired of people going out because of us and our problems," Dean growled. But Rose did not back down.  
"But that's just it. It's not just your problem anymore. It's all of ours now. We are all at risk already, might as well make our selves useful while we're at it. You have some of the most brilliant minds and most remarkable people in the world right here in this room offering to help. Question is, can you even afford to refuse it?" All eyes turned towards the Winchester boys, awaiting their answer. Dean cleared his throat and Sam looked down at his feet, clearing his throat as well. This fact had never occurred to them. Sam spoke next.  
"Look, we just don't want anyone else to get hurt. This is our fault, and we just want to fix it."  
"Well then, what are we waiting for? The most interesting case of our history, I can hardly wait," Sherlock said, springing up out of his chair. "What do we do?" Dean sighed.  
"Alright fine. But you do as we say." With that, he turned it over to Sam, heading towards the door, Crowley following.  
"We have a bunker where we live and where we have most of the equipment and information we will be needing. There's plenty of space there, so you should all be able to stay with us. We need to hurry though. Anyone who wants to help, we'll meet you out in that blue box." And with that, he went out the door to join his brother.  
Mrs. Hudson brought up the tea, and everyone discussed who would being doing what. It was decided that Rose, Ten, Jack, and Eleven would be going along. Rose would have her mother and father take care of baby Don. And finally, Sherlock, John, and against John's better judgement, Mary were going along as well. Mary had put up a fight, insisting she would take it easy and stay on the sidelines where it was safe, but that she had every right to be in this as he did. Mycroft was to stay and do his best to keep things running smoothly and normally, and should they need anything, to just call, as he detested leg-work. And of course, Eleven was to give them all a ride in the TARDIS, making pit stops before they all finally stopped outside of the inconspicuous bunker in Lebanon, Kansas, United States of America.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking time to read this, and I really hope you enjoy it. This fanfiction is nonprofit and is simply just an idea I had in passing that wouldn't leave me be. It is solely written for the enjoyment of the fans. I do not own any of the characters in this story, as they belong to their creators: Eric Kripke, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, and Donald Wilson, and any other wonderful minds who might have had a hand in the creation of these shows and characters that I might have missed. Anything that I use from the shows that doesn't belong to me besides the actual characters, such as scenes that are tweaked, will always be referenced at the end of a chapter. No copyright infringement is intended by the writing and creation of this story.

The Winchesters opened the door to the bunker, and everyone filed in. Everyone was surprised at the beautiful interior of the bunker. None of them had expected such a fancy interior to what looked something like an old warehouse.   
"What is this place? I couldn't land the TARDIS inside of it," Asked Eleven, picking up a book and flipping through it.  
"It belonged to an organization called the Men of Letters. They basically were scholars and chroniclers of the supernatural and mysterious. Dean and I are legacies of them, on our father's side. The whole bunker is warded to the teeth against all kinds of different things, things that even keep us off the radar, so that's probably why you couldn't land in here," Sam explained, setting his duffle bag down. Dean instantly headed to the kitchen, not bothering to help get their guests settled. He needed something to drink.  
Sam played the gracious host, showing everyone to their rooms. Some shared rooms, and others had their own. It was getting late in the evening, and he was sure that everyone was going to want to relax for the night before they got down to business. Once everyone was settled, Sam joined Dean in the kitchen and grabbed a beer for himself, opening it and sitting down at the table across from his brother.   
They sat together in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Sam studied Dean's face. His face was straight, but Sam could see the worry in his eyes, and the tightness of his jaw. Dean took a swig of his beer, and continued to stare off into space.  
"Don't worry, Dean. We'll get Cas back." Dean looked sideways at his brother, doubt clear in his eyes.  
"Yeah." Dean didn't want to put too much hope into this. He knew the score, and how these things usually turned out for them. It was amazing. Of all the bad things they had faced in their past, it always seemed to get worse somehow. And then, Cas had to go and be a damned fool and offer himself up the Devil.  
Of course, Dean saw the reasoning behind it. After all, even Sam had thought that maybe it would be best if Lucifer weighed in on the fight with Amara, but he later found out that Sam had ended up saying "no" to Lucifer, despite Lucifer making a good case for himself. Sam had seen through Lucifer's charming facade. That is how the Devil works after all. He's not always ugly; he is an angel after all. And that is why he's so dangerous. But why couldn't Cas see that?  
Dean shook his head, pushing these thoughts and the worry to the back of his mind. There were other things he needed to focus on now, and besides, it was getting a too emotional.  
"So, how exactly are we gonna play 'House'? These people aren't exactly Hunters," Dean said, turning in his seat to face Sam better.  
"I don't know. I'll run to the store tomorrow, and get some more food. Hopefully tomorrow we can get some sort of game plan going."  
"No kidding. This waiting around crap has got me on edge. Who knows when Amara or Lucifer could strike next." Their attention was drawn to the doorway as John Watson came in, followed by Crowley.  
"Hello boys. Not interrupting anything, are we?" Crowley asked. "Wouldn't happen to have a decent scotch in this squalid little kitchen, would you? Or at least some tea?" He walked to the cupboards and began rummaging through them. The boys did not even bother answering him. John stood awkwardly, not knowing if he should join Crowley in the search, or to wait for his hosts. Dean, tired of the awkwardness, got up and left the kitchen and headed down the hall, going to his room. Sam sighed and found some green tea bags, and handed them over, then followed the same way Dean had just left through.  
Meanwhile, Mary sat down at a table in what looked like a library of some sort, waiting for John to come back, hopefully with tea. So much had changed in such a short amount of time, that some tea was a welcome normality. She pulled out her phone, and started to look up the question that had been weighing on her mind ever since finding out about demons and this latest supernatural aspect. Who were the Winchester boys? She typed in Supernatural by Carver Edlund, and as it was searching, Rose came in and sat down beside her.   
"Hello there," Rose said cheerfully, and she sat down in the chair opposite Mary. "What are you up to?"  
"I'm just checking up on a few things. Honestly, I'm curious who these boys are. Your husband and his... friend's reaction to them piqued my interest. And I doubt they'll tell us anything," Mary responded.  
"Yeah, that was sort of odd, wasn't it? It does make you wonder..." Rose trailed off.  
"Here we go, now let's see..." Mary scrolled down the Supernatural blog webpage, but the only kind of description she could find was a general one. "'Two brothers hunt the supernatural across the country while hunting the demon that destroyed their family'. Well, fat lot of good that did." She continued to search as John came back in, holding two hot cups of tea, and Crowley, carrying a tumbler of scotch, following out of boredom.  
"Here we go. Can't guarantee how it'll be, but it's something, right?" John said as he placed the tea in front of Mary and he and Crowley sat with the two girls.  
"Ugh, this scotch is awful. I've tried to tell Squirrel and Moose to get the good stuff, but those two aren't much when it comes to the refined," complained Crowley. He leaned back in his seat, placing his feet on the table and crossing them at the ankles. They all watched Crowley warily. None of them quite knew how to act around him, what with him being a demon and all.  
"What's the matter? Hellhound got your tongue?" Mary then got an idea.  
"It's Crowley, right?"  
"The one and only."  
"Could you maybe tell us what exactly the story is with those boys? It'd be easier to trust and work with them if we knew their story." John and Rose's eyes flickered to Crowley.  
"It's a bit of a long story, but I suppose I could paraphrase a bit." He took a sip of scotch before he began.  
"Dean and Sam's mother was killed when they were very little by a yellow-eyed demon, Azazel. Their father, John Winchester, raised them as soldiers, taught them to be Hunters. It was later discovered dear Sammy was given psychic powers by the bastard. After years of hunting, Dean was able to finally shoot Azazel, but in the end, Sammy ended up dying. So, Squirrel made a crossroads deal; his soul for Sammy back in perfect health and one year to live. After the year was up, Dean was dragged to Hell by a Hellhound, where he remained for four months until our fine-feathered-friend Castiel rescued him."  
"They've died? And who's Castiel?" Rose asked, thoroughly interested at this point.  
"They have indeed. Multiple times in fact. Can't seem to keep them dead, actually. Castiel is an angel. A bloody idiot, however. Anyway, long story even shorter, Dean was supposed to be a vessel for archangel Michael, and Sam was supposed to be the vessel for Lucifer for the original Apocalypse. However, they ended up stopping that as well. There's a lot more to the story, but that's basically who you are dealing with. Two idiots against the world." Crowley took another sip of scotch.   
"They mentioned something, the Mark of something or other, as the key that was supposed to keep this Amara person locked away. What happened with that?" questioned Mary.  
"The Mark of Cain. Dean had the mark in order to kill a Knight of Hell, Abaddon. Once Abaddon was killed, Sam and Dean went after an angel that was causing trouble, named Metatron, who ended up killing Dean yet again. However, the Mark wouldn't let go, and Dean was turned into a demon; another Knight of Hell. Sam and Castiel made him human again, but they needed to hurry and remove the Mark before it turned him again. They found a way, but in doing so unlocked the cage to Amara. And so, here we are." There was silence before anyone spoke, taking in this new information.   
"Bloody hell, that's a heck of a story," John said quietly. "I can't even imagine going through that. Jesus."  
"Yes, well," Crowley stood back up. "C'est la vie." And with that, he wandered back out of the room, off to alleviate his boredom in some other way. There was a few more beats of silence as the two Watson's finished their tea and Rose stared off into space, deep in thought.  
"Well, Husband, I think we should be off to bed. There's a lot that needs to be done tomorrow, and lack of sleep won't help anything." Mary said, standing up. John stood and made a move to grab the cups to take them back to the kitchen, but Rose stopped him.  
"Don't worry about those, I'll take them. You two go on," she offered with a smile. John and Mary thanked her, and left to their room. Rose took the cups and took them to the kitchen before heading back to her's and Ten's room as well. Ten was drawing back the covers on the bed when he noticed Rose come in.  
"Hey you. Making friends out there?"   
"Yeah, sort of. The Watsons are nice people. Learned a bit about the Winchesters as well."  
"I see. Bit of a sad story, that. Really feel for those boys." Ten slipped into bed, as did Rose, and they curled up together and turned out the lights. Rose curled into Ten's chest, and heaved a sigh.  
"So do I. One things for sure, this is going to be very interesting," she said, drifting off to sleep in exhaustion.

***

Amara walked along the shoreline of a lake in North Dakota, looking around stoically. The lake in question, Ble Waka Sica in it's Lakota name meaning "Lake of the Spirits", was called Devil's Lake. There were legends about this lake, about a demon sea monster that had killed many Native Americans at one point, and that kind of negativity, that kind of purging, was what drew her here. It was so funny to her that despite what her brother would call "beauty" in his creation was so fragile and weak. It was disgusting to her. Only the corruption that was seeded deep within humanity was the one thing her brother had done right, and even then, he hadn't done it on purpose. It had been the result of Lucifer's jealousy of mankind, a result of the Mark of Cain, the key to her cage, that had opened the door for the corruption. Now that was art.   
She would never understand why her ridiculous brother couldn't just be satisfied with just being alone with her. Why tamper with such pure perfection and create these simpering, whining, useless sacks of filth under the pretenses of righteousness? Leave it to her brother to be so needy. To be lonely. Simple-minded cumberworld. Why couldn't he see that things had been perfect they way they had been?  
So far, her search for her brother had been fruitless, despite the havoc she was reaping. Humans dying, nature devastated, angels wiped out, and still nothing.  
"Come out and face me you milquetoast! You're precious creations are suffering, and still you cower! Pathetic!" She shouted. Her hands clenched into fists, and with the growing pressure on her palms, the ground began to shake, the water of the lake making waves and the ground immediately under her cracking, making deep grooves in the earth. The force of the earthquake was great, and animals in the area scrambled for cover and refuge, and the effect was felt throughout many cities and states. But still, there was no answer to her call to action.  
Pulling a look of utter disgust, Amara appeared back to where she had been hiding while she recovered from the attack from the angels, who had attempted to smite her. Of course, she sensed something was off right away, as she could not detect the presence of Rowena, the witch that had helped her to recover, anywhere in the surrounding area. It seemed that the flattery the witch had spouted while healing her was only in cowardice and a pathetic attempt at sucking up in hopes she would be spared. Well, she would just have to punish her. At least it would give Amara something to do while waiting for her brother to make an appearance. Amara set off in the direction that she sensed Rowena had went, tracking her down.

***

It was early in the morning when the affects of the earthquake were felt in the bunker, catching the attention of the Winchesters and their guests. Dean had been frying some eggs and bacon, enough for everyone, when he looked up at Sam. Their eyes met, and they knew that they had to hurry. Sam set his cup of coffee on the counter and set off down the hall, off to wake any guests who may still be sleeping and gather them for breakfast. Everyone trudged into the kitchen, all except Eleven, who had opted to stay in the TARDIS to do some research, and Crowley, who did not eat and had no desire to play the Brady Bunch.  
Most of them were already showered and dressed, Sherlock being the only exception, and John was exceptionally relieved to see that Sherlock had pajamas on underneath the sheet he had wrapped around himself as he got a plate of breakfast. Everyone chattered about generic things, like the weather and how they had slept, getting better acquainted with each other.   
Dean remained silent, focused on his meal and deep in thought. Sam chatted with Rose, Ten, and Jack, who attempted to flirt in turn with everyone when the chance arose, and John and Mary would put in a statement here and there. Sherlock, preferring to not get too involved in social settings, only commented when prompted or when a thought struck his mind, all the while watching everyone's body language.   
It occurred to him that Dean was particularly distressed with some detail of the situation, thus the especially reserved behavior. The situation in general was enough to make anyone distressed. But though everyone was at least a little soft spoken when it came to the circumstances at hand, Dean showed more along the lines of an underlying anger to his actions. Sam, too, must have known more than he was letting on, because he kept giving concerned and sympathetic looks to his brother. How interesting. Whatever it was, it was important to both of them, though they dealt with it in different ways.  
After breakfast, everyone gathered around a long table with a map printed on the top that looked like it was once used to for strategizing of some sort in the first room they had passed through upon entering the bunker. Dean and Sam remained standing; Sam with his arms crossed, and Dean with a beer bottle in hand. For a moment, no one said anything, not knowing exactly where to start. Jack cleared his throat and broached the subject first.  
"So, how exactly do we go about taking care of these problems?" He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, looking to Sam and Dean.  
"Amara is our top concern at the moment. Our best shot at taking her out right now is Lucifer. Back in the day, Lucifer, with the help of God, was the one who locked her away in the first place. We have an item, known as one of the few Hands of God, or an item that was infused with God's power, which should give Lucifer the edge he needs," Sam began.  
"Great, so how do we get the Devil to play nice then?" asked John.  
"That's the tricky part. Lucifer isn't going to just let us take control. He knows he's one of the keys to success and he's going to play that to his advantage. He's not going to team up unless he's the one calling the shots. One wrong move could be a big mistake."  
"What about your friend, this Castiel? Why don't we just ask him?" Rose pitched in. Sam looked back at Dean, and Dean looked up. The two seemed to have a conversation at just that glance. Sam finally heaved a sigh. This caught Sherlock's attention; this must be what had been concerning them earlier at breakfast.  
"Therein lies a problem. See, Lucifer is using Cas as his vessel; the physical body he is using to walk around in," he said, looking down. Everyone looked up at this.  
"How did that happen?" Mary asked. Something was off in the way the boys were acting. Ten, Eleven, and Jack all looked questioningly at the boys, surprised at this development.   
"That's how Lucifer got out in the first place. When I denied being his vessel, Cas said 'yes' instead, allowing Lucifer to walk away from the cage before we could lock it back up again."  
"I don't understand, I thought this Castiel was supposed to be a friend of yours; a good guy," Rose questioned.  
"He is." Dean said, his tone hard.  
"Well, what kind of angel says 'yes' to the Devil? Doesn't exactly sound like a good guy. Sounds more like he's got his own agenda. Must not know him as well as you think," John said, growing frustrated. Dean turned his look on John.  
"Look, he's a good guy, and he's on our side. He made a mistake, the same way we all make mistakes. That's why we are going to get Lucifer out of Cas, and into a different vessel. Then we will work something out with him to deal with Amara." John did not argue, but did not divert his eyes from Dean's intense stare. Even Sam didn't argue this time; he knew Dean was not moving on this point, and a fight was the exact opposite of what they needed right now.  
"Don't forget my part of the deal. Lucifer gets put back in the cage immediately, and I take back my throne. Only way you'll be getting the Hand of God from me," Crowley pitched in. Sam and Dean both rolled their eyes.  
"Yes, Crowley, we are going to do our best to get rid of Lucifer, but the cage has been sealed up with Rowena being the only one that can open it, with the Book of the Damned. Do you even know where either are?" Sam implored, Rowena being a thought that had only just occurred to him.  
"Lucifer snapped her neck," Crowley said quietly. Great, another dead end.  
"Ok, well why don't we take this one step at a time, huh? First we get rid of Amara, then we deal with Lucifer," Dean proposed. There were mumbles of agreement all around. Sherlock removed his hands from his lips, and sat forward.   
"Well then, how do we trap him?" Without any sort of warning, there was the smell of something burning, drawing everyone's attention to one of the walls, where words were being singed into the metal plating under the radars. The words read "Not dead Fergus".  
"That normal for you boys?" Jack said, casting a glance to Dean.  
"Well-" Dean began, shrugging in an almost comical way, but he was interrupted when Sam nudged him in the shoulder.  
"And who's Fergus?" asked Eleven, smiling a bit. He liked unusual names. Ignoring their questions, Crowley glanced around the room. Ten and Eleven could sense a presence in the room that didn't feel natural, though it was very subtle; something was manipulating the atmosphere surrounding Crowley. Kinda like that feeling you get when you're being watched.  
"Mother, what a surprise," he said to no one in particular that anyone could see. "Since you've been spying and have now made your grand entrance, I assume you're willing to participate?" He waited a second, seemingly waiting for a response before he continued, giving out the coordinates of their location.   
"What was that all about?" asked Ten. He and Eleven could now feel the presence snap out of the room and the atmosphere return to normal.  
"My mother, Rowena. A witch, and at least in her mind, an exceptionally talented one. She's alive after all. She's agreed to meet and work with us."  
"Alright, great. Now to just work out the finer details," Dean said, and within the next thirty minutes, they had worked out who would be doing what.   
They decided that they would capture Lucifer in an abandoned church miles away from civilization that had long been forgotten. Dean, Sam, Crowley, and Rowena would take the front line, working the spells and doing the talking. Sherlock, John and Jack were to stand on the opposite side of the room, surrounding Lucifer, armed with the Colt and shotguns with rock salt rounds in case things got out of hand and turned for the worse. Ten and Eleven were to wait at the front of the church with the TARDIS waiting, in case a fast escape was needed. They weren't very happy about the use of guns of any sort, but the Winchesters were adamant. And finally, Mary and Rose were to stay at the bunker and to add some extra wardings around the place that Sam had drawn up for them, to add an extra layer of protection.   
"Now that we've got that covered, I'd like to look through you're library. If I can read up on some of the information you have on demons and the devil himself, I can better assist against him," Sherlock asserted, his mind racing on ways he could best prepare for what was to come.  
"Sure, feel free. That's actually a really good idea. You should probably all do at least a little bit of that. You have to be ready for anything because, believe me, this is one powerful son of a bitch," Dean encouraged. And at that, the group dispersed and set about preparing themselves, mentally and physically, for the fight to come that afternoon.

***

The Master walked into the flat he had just acquired, with the help of his new little demon minions, and took it all in. It had the most expensive fashions and furnishings, and the best view of London. He walked to the window with a skip in his step, the excitement bubbling up inside him.  
He had been down this road before, but what made it all the better was that this time, the stage was set for him. Lucifer had promised that all the details of his identity and history would be taken care of. All he had to do was step in and play his part. Even now, the demons were working to get him in the position of Prime Minister once again. It would take some time, but as the old saying goes, "all good things come to those who wait".   
The Master's eyebrows furrowed as the drum beat in his head grew louder. Those same four beats were always there, taunting him unrelentlessly. His smile slowly faded as he tried to push it to the back of his mind and focus on something else. He pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and waited for the other party to answer.  
"Yes, sir?" came the voice on the other end.   
"It's 'Master'."   
"Yes, Master?" His smile returned.  
"I want you to look into something for me. There's a man named the Doctor, who usually travels with companions in a blue police box. Find him and bring him and the box to me."  
"Yes, Master." They each hung up and he continued looking out of the window. All of those people down below, driving around, going about their day, had no idea what was in store for them. And this time, he was not going to let the Doctor and his little friends get in the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this first chapter, I used the scene from Supernatural season 11, episode 18, where like in the last chapter the boys and Crowley are discussing what to do and Rowena makes her presence known with the etching in the walls, letting them know that she is not dead. This scene and event belongs to the creators and writers of Supernatural, and I do not claim it. It was merely tweaked to fit this story. Any dialogue that the characters use that are also used in the shows ("It's bigger on the inside" for example) belong to their respective writers as well.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long to be updated. Had a few things going on that needed my attention first. Please see the notes at the end of the chapter for further comments.
> 
> Thank you for taking time to read this, and I really hope you enjoy it. This fanfiction is nonprofit and is simply just an idea I had in passing that wouldn't leave me be. It is solely written for the enjoyment of the fans. I do not own any of the characters in this story, as they belong to their creators: Eric Kripke, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, and Donald Wilson, and any other wonderful minds who might have had a hand in the creation of these shows and characters that I might have missed. Anything that I use from the shows that doesn't belong to me besides the actual characters, such as scenes that are tweaked, will always be referenced at the end of a chapter. No copyright infringement is intended by the writing and creation of this story.

The little church was dimly lit, a soft golden glow from the slowly sinking afternoon sun illuminating a few of the windows. It smelt musty and old, and both Doctors couldn't help but find it beautiful in it's own way. They both wandered around, admiring the building's simple architecture, busying themselves with taking turns guessing it's age while the rest of them set up for the rituals to summon Lucifer, staying out of the way. They both weren't particularly happy about the usage of weapons for this, but they held their tongues on the matter.  
Dean and Sam were busy painting the sigils and making the ring of Holy Oil that would hold Lucifer. Rowena set up the Book of the Damned on a little table with the ingredients needed in a reinforcement spell as an added precaution to hold Lucifer. Jack and John were watching and checking their weapons, steeling themselves for what they were all about to do.  
"I never in my life thought that I would do something of this nature completely sober," John mused. Jack nodded in response.  
"I know what you mean. I've seen and dealt with a lot of weird things, and this is a first for me. I've even gone up against a giant creature that referred to itself as Abaddon that killed people just by casting a shadow, but since we've met these fellas, it makes aliens seem easy."  
"Abaddon? How is that possible? Crowley had said that these boys faced Abaddon and killed it. How could you have faced it too?" questioned John. Jack's brow furrowed slightly.  
"Maybe they're connected somehow. Like how the Doctor seemed to recognize Crowley, but it ended up not being him. Maybe I'll have to ask them about that one," replied Jack as he absently checked the gun he was holding to make sure it wouldn't jam. "How do you think your buddy is holding up?" He questioned, and John sighed.  
"I'm not entirely sure. He's a bit hard to read, but it seems that he's acclimated fairly well, considering."  
"He usually this quiet?" That was a good question. Usually, Sherlock would be bounding around, making deductions, but he hadn't said much since teaming up with the Winchesters.  
"No, and it's definitely something I'm keeping my eye on."   
In one of the little classrooms adjoining the church sanctuary, Sherlock was sitting in a dilapidated chair with his eyes closed. In his Mind Palace, he skimmed over the new information he had absorbed, mildly fighting off a headache that had begun. All of this new information, everything he had grounded as fact in his mind, he was beginning to question. His world had just gotten a whole lot bigger, and he felt that he had to keep his mind busy more now than ever, for fear his mind would spiral out of control. In the back of his mind, he felt the urge to take some of that little special something that always seemed to sharpen his mind, even if everyone else didn't see it that way. But of course, John would be livid at him.  
"Don't think too hard on it. You'll overcook your already-fried egg up in that noggin of yours." Sherlock opened his eyes to see Crowley looking down at him with his hands in his pockets.  
"Are all demons as presumptuous as you are?" Sherlock asked. Crowley cracked a smile.  
"You're one to talk, seeing as how this is just another day at the office for me, and here you sit, your whole world falling apart piece by piece."  
"It's funny, you say you're King of Hell, yet here you are, siding with a rag-tag team of humans and aliens. You're running. You're in just as much danger as the rest of us, and you've cozied up to the people who have the next best chance of success and who are the only ones willing to tolerate you. Even if you were King of Hell at one point, with Lucifer back, you're just as expendable as the rest of us. And though my world may be falling apart, I'm making myself useful. Why don't you do the same, and leave me to get some actual work done?" Crowley huffed a little chuckle.  
"Touche." And with that, he was gone, appearing in the next room. Dean and Sam turned to him expectantly.  
"Got it?" Dean asked. Crowley pulled the Horn of Joshua out of his jacket a little before returning it to his pocket, just in case.  
"I do indeed."   
"Alright, let's get this party started. Sherlock! Get in here, showtime!" Dean shouted, and everyone took up their appointed positions. Rowena said the spell for a couple of the wardings, which glowed momentarily. She gave a little nod to the Winchesters, who then gave each other a look before Dean, being the older brother, made the call.  
"Lucifer, if you can hear me, I have something here that I believe you have been searching for so... come and get it?" Dean trailed off, turning to look at Sam. There was a pause when all at once, in the center of the trap stood a man, Lucifer in Castiel's vessel. The seemingly ordinary appearance of Lucifer took the others by surprise, who had honestly been expecting something along the lines of pointy tail, horns, red skin, goatee, and pitch fork.  
Lucifer had his arms crossed, and did not look the least bit surprised when Dean lit the Holy Oil on fire, watching it surround him. He merely glanced around at them, unconcerned.  
"That's a bit rude, don't you think?" Everyone in the room watched intently, tension thick in the air. Sherlock and John exchanged a look with Jack, who shrugged. All three of them had their hands on their weapons, ready in case things took a turn for the worse.  
"First things first, Lucifer. You get out of Cas' vessel, then we can talk about the Horn of Joshua," Dean said firmly. Lucifer looked to him.  
"Ehhhh, I don't think so. He seems to want me here; why else would he let me in?" Dean merely glared at him. Lucifer raised his hands in mock defense.  
"Hey, don't be mad at me, I was merely doing what he asked; what you originally wanted, remember? It's not my fault your boyfriend chose me over you. My little bro just needed me," Lucifer said with a satirizing tone. Dean's jaw clenched, anger growing more and more. Sam stepped forward, getting everyone's attention before things got out of hand.  
"Look, we are willing to work with you, help you take out Amara. We just want Cas back first. We will even help you find another vessel."  
"Like who? You? We've been down this road before, Sammy. No one likes a tease." Lucifer smirked at him.  
"Come on, man. We want Amara gone just as much as you do. Let's all just go with our original plan; you get to take out Amara with an army behind you, and you're free from the cage. The only thing we ask is for you to give us back Cas and his vessel, and we will get you a different vessel, one all your own," Sam reasoned. Lucifer placed a finger over his mouth again and looked to be at least considering this.  
"Why should I believe you? After all, I answer your brother's prayer, and the first thing you guys do is trap me in wardings, spells and Holy Oil, which won't last for long, just as an aside."  
"Would you have stopped and listened to us otherwise?" Lucifer said nothing but smiled slightly. There was silence as he considered what the Winchesters were offering, and the vigilante group seemed to be holding their breath collectively, waiting for the answer. Lucifer's eyes then shifted to look at the rest of the band of heroes, taking them in each in turn. He chuckled quietly to himself, and turned back to the Winchesters.  
"Quite the little posse you boys have dug up. The brilliant detective and his pet doctor with his pregnant wife. A couple of Children of Time and the Doctor himself. And of course, Crowley and Red." Lucifer gave a little wave to Rowena, who just glared at him. He chuckled once more. "By the way, tell the Doctor thanks for me." Dean and Sam looked at each other, puzzled.  
"What do you mean, 'thanks'?" Dean questioned. Lucifer paced around the circle of Holy Oil, and the way he kept edging closer to the flames made all of them uncomfortable. It was like he was testing for any weak points.  
"Oh, well see, back in the day, in the far, far future, the Doctor broke one of the sixty-six seals my father so cleverly set up. Broke a literal lock on the cage, so to speak. He'll know what I'm talking about." This caught Jack's attention. The Doctor knew Lucifer? Dean shook his head.  
"Look, whatever, can we get back to the matter at hand? What do you say; Cas and his vessel for the Horn of Joshua?" The room was launched back into the silence once more.  
It was at this time, in the trembling silence, that the wall behind Jack, Sherlock, and John was shattered to pieces, and the trio flew forward, knocked from their feet from the force of the explosion. Lucifer flinched with surprise, and Dean, Sam, Crowley, and Rowena shielded their eyes from the blast. But when Rowena realized what was happening, she quickly and quietly hid behind a wall. Ten and Eleven ran into the room, their attention caught by the abrupt eruption, but stopped dead in their tracks as a tall woman with dark hair in a flowing black dress slowly stepped into the room through the rubble. John, Jack, and Sherlock coughed from the dust and surprise, and tried to crawl away, looking back over their shoulders, keeping an eye on the intruder.   
No one moved as Amara looked about the room. Her stoic eyes softened a little as she exchanged a look with Dean. He dragged his eyes away to look down, willing himself not to keep looking despite being drawn to her. When her eyes landed on Lucifer, her eyes hardened again, and she took a step towards him.  
"Well, nephew, it's been a while. It seems as though you find yourself in a bit of a situation, don't you?" she said, stopping a few feet from Lucifer. Lucifer scowled at her.  
"Oh, it's nothing I can't handle. On the other hand, I see you're out of that hole you were hiding in. Eat your wheaties this morning?" He jeered. No one noticed as the flames of the Holy Oil were beginning to douse, and the wardings and spells beginning to fail.  
"Where's your father? Did he send you to do his job again, or is he just too afraid to face me?" retorted Amara. The rest of the room remained silent, but the fear and intensity of the situation was almost tangible. Sherlock, John, and Jack were slowly trying to get over by the Winchesters without drawing attention to themselves.  
"I don't take orders from anyone anymore, especially from my father. And I'm not about to take a backseat to you!" Lucifer barked as he reached a hand toward Crowley, and an invisible force pulled the Horn of Joshua out of his coat and into Lucifer's hand.   
As soon as the Horn of Joshua hit Lucifer's hand, it began to glow brightly, and the light traveled up his arm, and spread to the rest of his body. His eyes glowed as he stretched the same hand toward Amara and shot the light directly at her. Amara didn't miss a beat as she reached up and caught the attack, absorbing it. The smile that had spread madly across Lucifer's face disappeared as Amara raised her hand and turned the attack on him. In the few seconds before the blast impacted on Cas' vessel, his eyes rolled back and he shuttered only a moment before he blinked and focused his eyes on Dean.  
"Dean?" Cas said quietly. The attack from Amara hit Cas, and a scream of extreme pain erupted from him.  
"Cas!" Dean yelled, and as he made a move to rush forward, Sam grabbed him and held him back. Amara continued to concentrate the power on Cas, and he continued to scream uncontrollably. The rest of group seized the opportunity and fled to the front of the church, where the TARDIS waited. Ten and Eleven both flew around the console, putting in coordinates and Sherlock, John, Crowley and Rowena piled in. Jack stopped at the door and turned back to the brothers.  
"Guys, come on! We got to go!" But the boys made no move to follow him.  
The power of the attack fizzled out, and when it subsided, the light of an angel's grace burst out from the vessel and flew out of the room as fast as it could. Cas' vessel lay on the ground, now silent. Sam and Dean both rushed to his side, and found that he wasn't breathing. Dean turned to Amara, who was merely staring off in the direction the angel grace had left in.  
"Bring him back," Dean said, his voice cracking slightly. Amara squinted her eyes as she felt that familiar intense longing from him, but there was something off about it. Could it be possible that the longing had not been for her after all?   
"Bring him back!" He shouted this time, but Amara just got that dead look in her eye.  
"I don't take orders. Not even from you, Dean." She turned back to the direction the grace had left and then she was gone. Dean turned back to the vessel, now empty and lifeless, and put a hand on Cas' shoulder. Tears stung his eyes, and he fought hard against them, determined not to let any fall. Sam hung his head at the loss.  
Dean felt a tender hand on his shoulder, and for a moment he felt a spark of hope, but it was snuffed out again when he saw that instead of Cas, it was Jack. Jack knelt beside Dean and exchanged a look with Sam, who nodded.  
"We gotta go guys. Come on, I'll help you with him," Jack said, and he reached down and began to pull Cas' body up to carry it. Dean sniffed and wiped the single tear that had managed to escaped away, and stood along with Sam. They followed Jack, who had Cas' body slumped over his shoulders now, into the TARDIS, where everyone else waited. The Doctors Ten and Eleven began piloting the TARDIS, taking it back to the bunker.  
Jack laid Cas down on the grated floor while they waited to land, then stood back. Everyone was frantic over what had just occurred, all of them talking over each other about what to do now.   
"Well, that was a bloody waste of effort, wasn't it?" Sherlock said as he paced, running his hands through his hair, trying to think. Dean's features hardened as he walked up to Sherlock.  
"Cas is not a waste of anything! He's family, and family doesn't give up on one another. We had to at least try, we owed him that much!"  
"Sherlock," John warned, but Sherlock just continued.  
"Oh, well then, was it worth putting all of us in greater danger? Was it worth exposing our forces, showing the very beings we are fighting who they are dealing with? Because now, we have shown them exactly who will be coming up against them, and to make matters that much worse, we have no edge. We have now lost the element of surprise, we have lost one of the only supernatural beings that might have actually been on our side, and even then he was snuffed out like a candle in a harsh wind, and this all powerful weapon didn't even scratch the proverbial surface! So for all your valiance and puffed up sense of leadership, tell me, was it worth the very life you were striving to save?" Sherlock demanded, equally defensive. Dean glared at him for a second, before pulling back and slugging Sherlock with a trembling, stony fist.   
Sam jumped forward, grabbing Dean to keep him from throwing any other punches, and John went to Sherlock, who was holding his now bloody nose. Jack placed himself between the two, an arm outstretched toward both of them to discourage any other attacks on one another.  
"Not good?" Sherlock asked John quietly. John looked at Dean a second, then back to Sherlock.  
"Yeah, I'd say," He replied simply.  
"Hey, you lot, settle down! Violence and chiding each other is not going to solve anything! We are all worked up, and we are all scared, but what we have to do now is stay calm and work out another plan. I'm landing us now, so let's just go inside, take a moment to calm down, and then we will figure something else out," Eleven said, as he pulled on one final lever, and the TARDIS landed right outside the bunker. Dean yanked away from Sam and turned back to stand over Cas. John dragged Sherlock out of the door and into the bunker to get him cleaned up and some ice. Crowley and Rowena followed them inside, and Eleven, Ten and Jack stood off to the side, waiting patiently as the Winchesters tried to collect themselves.  
Inside the bunker, Rose and Mary greeted everyone who came in with smiles until they saw the blood coming from Sherlock's nose. They asked about what had happened, and John and Crowley filled them in on the turn of events.   
"So, Castiel is...?" Rose trailed questioningly.   
"Yes," answered Crowley, and he went to pour himself some scotch. Rose sighed quietly, then turned to John.  
"Is the Doctor outside still?"  
"Yes, both of them."  
"Thanks." She turned and wandered outside and into the TARDIS, which was silent. Rose walked over to Ten, who held an arm out to her, and put her arm around his thin waist. She looked to the form laying on the floor, and was surprised to find that Castiel, the angel, looked like an ordinary man. He had handsome features, and a lean build, but his final expression was tired and strained.   
"Let's start getting some wood, build a pyre. Send him off with a proper Hunter funeral," Dean said, clearing his throat.  
"Are you sure he's for sure gone, Dean? I mean, he's come back before..." Sam asked gently, hopefully.  
"I don't think he's coming back this time, man. That was God's sister, using God's power on him, and she didn't hold back. I think he's gone," answered Dean as he looked at Cas' still form still on the floor of the TARDIS. Sam nodded his assent. Dean waited a moment longer, taking a deep breath. They both turned when Jack came up beside them.   
"You guys go on ahead and get that all set up. I'll stay here with him," he offered gently, and they both nodded. Dean immediately went outside and went straight to get some wood, and Sam followed after muttering a 'thanks' to Jack. Eleven walked up the TARDIS stairs and into one of the many rooms she had and came back shortly with a white sheet. He handed the sheet to Jack, and they both proceeded to place it over Castiel's body and gently wrap it around him.  
"What does this mean now?" Rose asked, watching them. Ten merely shook his head, watching as well, his eyes sad. He hated seeing life taken away. 

***

Jeremy Meyer was getting home that evening from work with a bottle of fine wine and expensive Italian take-out for dinner when the ringing started. It was incredibly loud, but through it, he could hear a voice speaking to him, and a brilliant light above him. The voice was asking him if he was willing to take part in a plan the angels had. Typically, he did not believe in angels, but this, well, how could you deny something you were seeing with your own eyes? Hearing with your own ears?  
"Yes." The light then engulfed him, the last thing he saw before taking a mental backseat to Lucifer. Once Lucifer was in control, he turned his neck, popping it and then stretched.   
The attack from Amara had hurt, even though he had hid behind Castiel, letting him take the brunt of the hit. It had burned through Castiel, but the last bit of it had scalded Lucifer a little bit. The next thing he did now that he had a new vessel was went and found a knife. With it, he cut wardings into his skin to hid him from Amara, who no doubt was trying to trail him.   
That being done, he looked in a mirror he found in the house hallway, checking out the vessel. It was obvious this man liked the gym, as he was very muscular. He was broad with tan skin, dark hair, and hazel eyes. He had on the suit Jeremy had worn to work, and every inch of him was business-like and pristine.  
"Not bad, I guess. Could be worse," he mumbled to himself. He turned away and sighed. He had to get back to Hell. He was going to have to come up with a new plan to take Amara out, now that he knew that his power, even if coupled with his father's power, was not going to be enough. Great. A second later, he had disappeared out of Jeremy's house and into Hell.

***

Amara was close. She could feel the power, pain and fear leaving a breadcrumb trail right to Lucifer. He wasn't very far out of the area from the church, and Amara knew he was panicking. There was good reason for him to be.  
The trail led to a nice home in the next town over. She went inside, but found that Lucifer was gone, and the trail stopped there.  
"Dammit!" The windows in the house all shattered, and the beams and the dry wall were torn apart. The entire house came down around her. Amara took a steadying breath, and then took off, attempting to find another lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so sorry about what happened to Cas here. There's a reason for it, I promise. Also, I haven't decided yet if I will be including any pairings in this that aren't canon, but I'd like to hear what you all think. Should I include pairings or keep it strictly canon?
> 
> (SPOILERS) In this chapter, I used the scene from Supernatural season 11, episode 18, where the Winchesters, Crowley, and Rowena trap Casifer (Lucifer in Cas' vessel) and attempt to contact Castiel to get him to expel Lucifer. I also used where Amara comes into that same scene and intervenes. Those scenes and events belong to the creators and writers of Supernatural, and I do not claim them. They were merely tweaked to fit this story. Any dialogue that the characters use that are also used in the shows ("It's bigger on the inside" for example) belong to their respective writers as well.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if these chapters seem somewhat short. I'll try to make the others longer, so far it just seemed like those were good places to end each one. Please review and let me know what you think so far. I'm always open to opinions, and would love to get feedback on this, as this is my first fan fiction, and constructive criticism is always appreciated.
> 
> Thank you for taking time to read this story, and I really hope you enjoy it. This fanfiction is nonprofit and is simply just an idea I had in passing that wouldn't leave me be. It is solely written for the enjoyment of the fans. I do not own any of the characters in this story, as they belong to their creators: Eric Kripke, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, and Donald Wilson, and any other wonderful minds who might have had a hand in the creation of these shows and characters that I might have missed. Anything that I use from the shows that doesn't belong to me besides the actual characters, such as scenes that are tweaked, will always be referenced at the end of a chapter. No copyright infringement is intended by the writing and creation of this story.

Everyone in the small group of vigilantes was in attendance at the little makeshift funeral for Castiel, and even Sherlock was quiet and respectful. None of them except the Winchester boys, Crowley, and Rowena had known Castiel, but nonetheless, they could tell that the loss not one to be taken lightly. They all stood quietly, watching the flames gently caress his body into ash, except for Sherlock who, at Mary's suggestion and John's agreement, was playing a slow sorrowful melody on his violin as a form of apology for the earlier confrontation.  
Sherlock was not exactly happy about this, nor did he fully understand why he should be apologizing, as he had merely just pointed out the truth. But he trusted Mary, and he trusted John, and so he was doing it to appease them at the very least. It took a few hours for the whole pyre to burn completely, and eventually the little crowd dwindled away, leaving only Sam and Dean for the remainder of time.  
Inside, everyone busied themselves with different activities. Mary and Rose had both been given some of the finer details, and now that the initial event was over, all of them, apart from Crowley and Rowena, who already knew, were beginning to see just how far in over their heads they really were. This was not the run of the mill criminal mastermind or alien. This was the real deal; the physical embodiment of evil. This revelation weighed on them all, and each had responded in their own ways.  
When they had gotten a moment to themselves, John had embraced Mary tightly, reluctant to let go. He could feel their baby girl moving around, and all he could think was how thankful he was to have gotten back alive, him and Sherlock both. All he wanted to do was take Mary, the baby, and Sherlock and just return back to their normal lives. Back to when criminals were the only thing to fear, and the unknown was just a fairytale.  
Sherlock sat in an arm chair some distance away, and watched them out of the corner of his eye. He, too, wished that things could go back to the way they had been, only a little further back. He wished it could just be he and John once again against the world. This, much to his frustration and slight confusion, made him feel guilty. He liked Mary. He was happy for John. But as much as he pushed the feeling back, he would always long for the way it had been before. This new development, this new knowledge that there were things lurking in the shadows, amplified the longing even more. A part of him still couldn't believe it. However, much to his dismay, it was very real, and the people he loved were very much in danger.  
Ten and Rose had gone to their room and chatted quietly about what had happened. Ten was concerned. He knew that these Winchester boys needed help, and he knew that the world, and all of humanity, was in grave danger. He knew that Rose felt the same way, and it didn't sit well with either of them. But things were not like they used to be. Before, the Doctor moved around in his Police Box, and sure things got dangerous, downright deadly at times, but at the end of the day, the job got done and the world was a little safer. Now, however, he was human. He didn't have a TARDIS, Rose was his wife, and they had a son. He was living a life he couldn't have before. So, at what point is the line between doing the right thing for your family, and doing what is right for humanity, drawn?  
Ten understood now why the Winchester boys didn't have much family apart from each other. He understood why Castiel had been so important to them. They dealt with this internal fight every day. Sure, Ten and Rose risked their lives while working with Torchwood and partnering with UNIT, but this? This was full on war, one they were not prepared for. Aliens? They were living creatures, and usually there was a reasoning behind their actions. If approached the right way, they could make the decision to do what was right. But from what he had seen that afternoon, they were dealing with an immortal, indifferent force of evil, and there was no guarantee that any of them would be walking away. Ten and Rose sat in silence for a few minutes, then looked at each other, their decision made.  
Jack Harkness was in the kitchen. He poured coffee he had just made into a mug, remembering when someone very close to him would make coffee in times of high stress, or anytime for that matter. Those days were gone now, and it was just him. He had taken time off from Humanity, a sort of vacation. A part of him thought that maybe he should have stayed on vacation. But then again, this was a new adventure and he knew that he had to help. Not to mention, he was surrounded by very attractive company, some of which looked as though after that afternoon's events maybe needed some distraction. Maybe he could do some good there too.  
A few moments later, Eleven walked into the kitchen as well, carrying some odd device that he was working on. Upon noticing Jack, he went to join him.  
"Fun afternoon, huh?" Jack commented. Eleven made a slight chuckle at Jack's sarcasm, and continued to work on his device.  
"Certainly was educational," Eleven said as he pulled the sonic screwdriver up and made it buzz at the object. Jack looked him up and down, measuring his words before broaching the most prevalent question on everyone's mind.  
"Definately. Would have to be mad to continue fighting," Jack said, and looked out of the corner of his eye at the Doctor. Eleven paused his motions and slowly made eye contact with Jack and a small sly smile played on his lips.  
"Guess that seals the deal then, doesn't it?" Jack smiles in return as well, and they both chuckle. They don't say anything else on the subject, the question mutually decided and done. They were both going to do their best to help. They didn't know about the rest of the little group, but this was something that needed taking care of. The three that had taken it upon themselves to save the world were very much similar to Jack and the Doctor, and they'd be damned if they just let the world die on their watch. Getting Dean and Sam to cooperate and let them help would be difficult since they were very reluctant from the beginning, and now a very close friend of their's was dead, but like it or not, Jack and the Doctor were going to help.  
"I've got to say, this new you is nice, Doctor," Jack says, changing the subject. He looked Eleven up and down, taking in his handsome young face and very old eyes. "Not really sure about this part though. A little dated." He pointed to the bowtie. Eleven chuckled and raised his eyebrows in a manner that could only be described as 'cheeky'.  
"Oi, don't knock the bowtie, bowties are cool." He reached up and adjusted it slightly. "Besides, you know a little something about dated, don't you?" Jack laughed.  
"That I do." They laughed together and chatted, just like old times, up until the Winchesters, after the funeral pyre had been taken care of, came in and it was time to reconvene. They all gathered in the same room they had before, but this time, the lack of morale was daunting and nearly palpable. Crowley reluctantly stood next to Rowena, who kept pointedly looking away from him. Dean and Sam took their places again at the front. Sam cleared his throat.  
"I just want to take a moment, we both do, to thank you all for your kindness and respect during the last few hours. It meant a lot." He looked back at his brother for a moment, who was staring off into space and did not acknowledge the look, before returning his gaze to the room and proceeding quietly. "We aren't really sure what to do from here, since our latest plan didn't work. Normally we would research until we found something else to go on, but I won't lie to you all, we've been through just about all of it, and our options are running out. At this point, you've seen a glimpse of what we are up against, so you also have a pretty adequate idea of just how this fight could end up. So, what we are trying to say, I guess, is that what you all do now is up to you."  
Sam's eyes wandered around the room in silence, giving all of their guests some time to mull over what was being offered. This didn't take as long as he had figured it would.  
"Impossible situation, odds stacked against us, new things to learn about? Sounds like another Tuesday for me." The Eleventh Doctor piped, none of them noticing the slight wince Sam gave at the mention of continuous Tuesdays. "I've put too much time and effort into this planet to give up on it now. I'll be staying."  
"Same here," Jack said immediately. The rest of the group weren't so eager. Jack looked to Ten and Rose, almost expectantly. However, he didn't get the reaction he thought he would. Ten cleared his throat and answered slowly, scratching the back of his head.  
"Well, normally, we would step up to the front lines without a moment's hesitation, but looking at the current situation, I'm not even sure how much help we will be here. We don't have our normal resources here, and our son is back in London."  
"That's okay. We really don't blame you, and understand completely," Sam empathized.  
"But we do still want to help. We work with an organization called Torchwood, and we partner with UNIT. They don't deal with the supernatural, but they do work with the unusual and extraterrestrial. We could go back and use our resources there to keep in touch and do research. Maybe we could find a way to help there," Rose suggested hopefully. Sam considered this.  
"Actually, that might work. The more resources we have, the better chance we have of actually getting something. Thank you." Rose and Ten smiled a little, happy that they could at least help in this way.  
"As much as we want to help, I'm really not sure how much good we are truly by staying here either. We don't even really have any sort of special access to anything that might be of some use," John ventured, contemplating how exactly to word that he, Mary, and Sherlock wanted to go home. But when Mary spoke up, it surprised him.  
"What about Lestrade and Scotland Yard? Maybe we could convince Lestrade to pull some strings to keep an eye out for anything particularly unusual. He could possibly even give them some clearance for some places if they really need it. It's not much, but at least it's something. Besides, we have another problem that needs dealt with as well, what with Moriarty out and about."  
"This is true. Lestrade and the rest of his legion of idiots could be of some use in the right kind of situation. Not to mention Mycroft," Sherlock added.  
"That's reasonable, and more than we could ask for. Thank you, all of you," Sam said, and Dean remained uncharacteristically silent. "Ok, so recap then. The Eleventh Doctor and Jack will stay and help out as best they can, Ten and Rose will return home and pool their resources with this UNIT and Torchwood, and John, Sherlock and Mary will return home as well and keep us posted if anything out of the ordinary pops up and maybe help with investigations. Sound about right?" There were murmurs of agreement all around, apart from Rowena and Crowley, who both just scowled the entire time. Rowena wasn't happy about working with the Winchesters yet again, and Crowley was bored and tired of running. However, they had no other options but to stay put and do their part, or suffer at the hands of Amara and Lucifer.  
With their plans now mapped out again, they all began to get up to part for the evening. Dean got up and went straight to the kitchen again for another drink, which Sam was not particularly thrilled about. He would have followed him, but another thought crossed his mind.  
"Hey Doctor, one second. Today, Lucifer mentioned to tell you 'thanks' for something having to do with breaking open a lock on the cage. Do you know what he could have been talking about?" They all stopped and turned their eyes to the two Doctors. Eleven and Ten both shot each other a confused look.  
The Doctor had traveled through so many places and met so many creatures who thought they were gods or immortal, but not once did he stop to think that what society had conjured up as the Devil could be real. For as long as he could remember, he had always chalked it up to a creative personification for sordid actions and bad happenings. In light of recent events, he didn't know what exactly to think, and it wasn't a subject neither he or his meta-crisis double really wanted to focus on. Eleven addressed the question.  
"I've come across many creatures and supposed gods in my travels, though none that quite relate to your friend from this afternoon. Why would he claim to know me?"  
"That's not entirely true," Rose spoke up after a moment of thought. Eyes all turned to her. "Remember Krop Tor? There was that creature, the 'Beast' as it called itself. Somehow it had gotten into Toby when we were trying to escape, and I had to shoot the window out and it - he- got sucked into the black hole."  
"Right! I had to break the jars that were set up as a fail-safe against the Beast in order to defeat him. Though I still have no idea who wrote that scrawling script on the walls and what it said, nor who set up the pit that the Beast was trapped in in the first place. But I do know that it was as if they had set it up knowing that I would be there," Eleven mused. Ten put both hands to his head, beginning to get excited.  
"Oh yes! There was oxygen provided and my fall was cushioned, and there was even depictions of a being breaking the jars on the walls!"  
"So, if that's the case, and you were expected, could Lucifer have been the Beast, and it was planned from the beginning for him to fall into the black hole and into this universe?" Sam asked.  
"That would make sense. After all, the angels and Lucifer's followers had been setting things up for the big prize fight for centuries. It would make sense that one of the locks on the cage were to be so unreachable, they were in another reality all together," Crowley added, inspecting the bit of scotch he had yet to finish in the bottom of his tumbler.  
"'The Disciples of Light' he said is who trapped him. Your angels?" Rose asked, turning to Sam. He took in a deep breath and sighed.  
"That's entirely possible," he said as he rubbed his face. "Maybe all these different universes are connected in some way, and that's why they all collided."  
"You know, that's actually something I was going to ask about as well," Jack piped up. "It was mentioned that you boys had gone up against some demon called Abaddon."  
"That's right," Sam said. "She was a Knight of Hell and the only way to kill her was for Dean to take on the Mark of Cain."  
"That's what we heard. Thing is, some time ago, me and a bunch of my former colleagues faced a gigantic creature that was also called Abaddon. It never spoke, but acted just like an animal, a beast. So, could the same thing that happened to Lucifer also somehow have happened to Abaddon? That's another connection," said Jack.  
"An intriguing theory, but if that is the case, then how exactly do you plan to explain our universe colliding with the likes of yours? Ours didn't have magic or supernatural creatures. Yet, here we stand amidst this ludicrous nightmare," Sherlock asked from the chair he still sat in, staring off at something unknown. There was a beat of silence.  
"Honestly, I don't know. In the meantime, it's something we should all keep in the back of our minds and we can figure that out later. For now, I'm going to go join my brother. Goodnight." And with that, Sam went and joined Dean. The others broke apart and went about on their ways, some packing and others just going to bed.  
Dean got drunk that night, and though Sam was a worried about him, he also understood. Cas had always been a very close and loyal friend to the both of them, but even Cas had said at some point that he and Dean "shared a more profound bond". Seeing as Cas had literally pulled Dean's ass out of the fire, and on more than one occasion, this really wasn't surprising. But naturally, Cas didn't play favorites, and neither did they. At the end of the day, all three of them were family through and through.  
Sam understood also that Dean wasn't just upset over the fact that Cas was dead. He was also blaming himself, and Sherlock's little speech from earlier certainly hadn't helped the situation in any way. It had been Dean's call, his insistence, that they try to save Cas instead of trusting his decision to let Lucifer in. As Dean saw it, if he had of just trusted Cas' decision, had a little bit more faith in his call, then Cas would still be alive. They could have tried to save him later, but now it was too late, and Cas was gone. But Sam knew that this wasn't Dean's fault. The situation that afternoon could have gone any number of ways, and with Amara gunning for Lucifer anyway, Cas had always been in danger. Now the trouble would be in helping Dean to see that.  
Sam had a few drinks as well, but stayed sober enough to help Dean to his room and into bed, fully clothed apart from his shoes, before heading off himself. He would talk with Dean in the morning and try to convince him that this wasn't his fault. Knowing Dean, it most likely wouldn't do any good, and Dean would probably still continue to blame himself, but Sam had to try. Dean was his brother and only family, and he would not let him suffer alone.  
By the time morning came around, John, Mary, Sherlock, Ten, Rose, and Eleven were all loaded up in the TARDIS and ready to go home. Jack decided to accompany Eleven on the trip and then they would return when everyone else had been dropped off. Dean was still passed out, but Sam, even though he had a slight headache, was up to see them off. They all shook hands, and said their goodbyes after exchanging numbers, and they were on their way. When the TARDIS had dematerialized, Sam turned and went back inside the bunker. He passed Crowley and Rowena, who were bickering about something stupid, and grabbed his laptop to continue his search for new ideas. He opened up a search engine, and with a shout over his shoulder for Crowley and Rowena to shut it before he locked them up together in the dungeon, he began the search.

***

What seemed like hardly a few seconds passed by and the TARDIS materialized outside of 221B Baker Street. Everyone exited, and went inside after Mary invited them in for a cup of tea before they went on their way. Mrs. Hudson greeted them kindly as they all entered, though Sherlock noted she seemed slightly more reserved than normal. But he payed it no more mind after she brightened when the Tenth Doctor offered to help her carry the trays of tea and biscuits. She must not have slept very well that night, and Sherlock could just make out slightly darkened circles under her eyes. They all visited for a bit, and it was nice for all of them to get back to normalcy. It was as if what had happened just a few hours previously had all just been some sort of weird dream.  
Some time later, Rose decided it was time to go when she saw Mary subtly stifle a yawn when she thought no one was looking, and herded both Doctors and Jack to the door. They kindly thanked their hosts, then left them in peace. Instead of making the trek home, and since they already had clothes with them, Mary and John decided to just stay the night with Sherlock that night, then just head home in the morning, and the rest of their evening blissfully passed without incident.  
The TARDIS dematerialized once more to take Rose and Ten home. They all chatted while waiting for her to land, though Ten seemed lost in thought. He simply stood by Rose with an arm around her, watching and observing. Per usual, in mere moments the TARDIS was parked just outside of Rose and Ten's home. Rose decided that she would pick up Don from her mother's in the morning after they checked in with Torchwood and made sure they didn't need them for anything.  
They didn't even have a chance to get out of the door, when Rose, Eleven and Jack were pulled by some invisible force against one of the walls of the TARDIS. They groaned from the force of the attack, and their blood ran cold when they looked up only to find that Ten stood with a hand outstretched at them, smiling fiendishly and his eyes completely taken over by black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I referenced back to the Doctor Who episodes The Impossible Planet and The Satan's Pit, the Torchwood episode called End of Days, and of course any and all Supernatural episodes involving Abaddon. Those episodes, scenes and events belong to the creators and writers of Supernatural, and I do not claim them. They were merely tweaked to fit this story. Any dialogue that the characters use that are also used in the shows ("It's bigger on the inside" for example) belong to their respective writers as well.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late updates guys. Being a full-time adult really takes it toll sometimes :/ But hey, just know that I plan to see this story through to the end, and I couldn't just leave our heroes (or our favorite villains either) just hanging could I? Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> Thank you for taking time to read this story, and I really hope you enjoy it. This fanfiction is nonprofit and is simply just an idea I had in passing that wouldn't leave me be. It is solely written for the enjoyment of the fans. I do not own any of the characters in this story, as they belong to their creators: Eric Kripke, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, and Donald Wilson, and any other wonderful minds who might have had a hand in the creation of these shows and characters that I might have missed. Anything that I use from the shows that doesn't belong to me besides the actual characters, such as scenes that are tweaked, will always be referenced at the end of a chapter. No copyright infringement is intended by the writing and creation of this story.

The Master was in a spectacular mood. True to his word, Lucifer had arranged to restore the Master's former position as Prime Minister, and he had not only just wrapped up an interview about how he felt about getting the position so quickly and what his future plans were, but he had just received a text informing him that the TARDIS and it's occupants had been apprehended. To put it mildly, the Master was downright giddy.  
Whistling an obnoxious, fast paced tune, he danced into his new office. Parked in one of the corners of the room was the TARDIS. The Master skidded to a stop in front of her and ran a loving hand over her. The door on her front opened and out stepped the Tenth Doctor, turning to face the Master, who cocked an eyebrow.  
"The Doctor and his accessories, as you commanded Sir," Ten said, and with a blink of his eyes, they turned black. The Master giggled with glee.  
"Wonderful idea! I didn't think you gusts of ash had it in you, but whew! Now, let's see the rest of them!" he said, and bounded into the TARDIS. Bound, gagged, and sitting on the floor were Eleven, Jack and Rose. Upon seeing the Master, their eyes oggled. Rose looked to her husband with tears she refused to shed in her eyes and tried to plead with him to come back to her. To fight the demon that had possessed him. Surely he could fight it; he was the Doctor after all. But with that, another thought came to her.   
Yes, he was the Doctor, but not the original one. He was the meta-crisis Doctor. Her husband was the human Doctor. And while he was wickedly smart, just like the original Doctor sitting to her left, he was just only human. This realization broke her heart all over again, and she had to look away.  
"Well, well, long time no see fellas! Your new face is so young Doctor; a bit telling, don't you think? Regression and all that. Anyway, let's put away our toys, shall we?" The Master turned to Ten. "Leave the TARDIS here, where I can watch her, and take them and put them in a free cell in Hell. But don't lay a finger on them. I don't want to mess them up just yet. Then, I want you to return here, and stay in that vessel. His mind will come in handy." And with that, he shoved his hands unceremoniously into his pockets and stalked out of the TARDIS to sit at his desk.  
Two random men, whom the trio assumed were guards or something of the like, came in, picked them off the ground, and led them out. They fought as much as they could, but as would be expected, they were no match. The Master waved as he watched them all stagger out of the office, smiling his grinchiest smile the entire time.

***

Later that night, after the Master had left, the TARDIS sat in the locked and tightly guarded office. At first glance, nothing would have seemed off, unless one was paying attention.  
With one drawn out wheeze, the center console opened up, illuminating the dark front room. Out of the center, a brilliant, golden light-like substance trickled out of it and pooled on the floor. A moment later, that very same substance grew into the form of Rose Tyler. Only instead of the real Rose's deep brown eyes, they glowed gold. She turned slowly back to the console - which had returned to normal - and ran a gentle hand over it.  
"Shhh, our secret for now," she whispered. A moment later, she walked through the door out into the office, where she dissolved into the golden substance once more, and floated out through the vent into the night.

***

Dean and Sam sat in their usual places in the library, each milking a beer as they did their research. They were mostly silent, apart from the turning of pages and the clunk when they set the beer back on the table. They had been up for hours, pouring over the same material they had been reading for days on end, and still were coming up with nothing.   
With a sigh and picking up his beer, Dean sat back in his chair. Sam looked up from his laptop and looked at his brother curiously.  
"Well, I'm calling it a night," Dean said as he rubbed his forehead in attempt to fight off the headache that had grown in size since dinner. Sam sat back in his chair as well.  
"I'm not far behind you. I've got a few more sources I want to double check before I go though."  
"Yeah," Dean replied with a short yawn following. "Hey, did we ever hear back from the Doctor? Weren't they supposed come back, or check in at least?"  
"Yeah, I haven't heard anything out of them. That's a little odd, don't you think?"  
"Especially after how adamant they were to return, you know? And neither the Doctor or Jack really seemed like the kind to drag their feet on this kind of deal."  
"Maybe we should-" Sam started, but was cut off when his phone rang. He pulled it out and put it to his ear. "Hello? Hey John, we were just talking about -" There was a pause as he listened as John Watson interrupted. A moment later, Sam sat up straighter and, with his phone tucked between his cheek and ear, began typing furiously before clicking the link he was after. He gestured for Dean to come around and see too.  
"I got it up, yeah. One sec." When Dean came around and stood beside him, he clicked the play button on the video, which started playing.  
In the video, a man a little on the shorter side with light colored hair and in a black suit and tie stood at a podium giving a speech; something about Prime Minister. But what really grabbed their attention wasn't the speech, but the tall, skinny, brown haired man standing just behind him to the left. Sam paused the video and looked up at his brother, who looked down at him, exchanging a glance.  
"We see him," he confirmed into the phone, looking back to the screen. His mind was instantly shifting gears. "Hey John, do you think you could have your sources look into this? See if it's normal for him to be there, and maybe monitor him?" Another pause, another response. "Alright, thanks. We'll try to find out some information on it too. Thanks." With that, he hung up.   
"So, new source?" Dean stood up straight again.  
"Yep. I'm on it," Sam said, already typing in the search engine.  
"Alright, I'm gonna go catch a few Z's, then I'll get back at it with you. 'Night." Sam gave a little half wave over his shoulder.  
"'Night."  
Dean threw away his beer bottle, then padded off to his room. Almost as if he were on autopilot, he drew back his blankets and crawled into bed. Out of the little drawer beside his bed, he took out the pictures of his mom with him and Sammy, and the one with Bobby, and let his mind just drift for a moment.  
How he wished he could just talk to one of them right now. Bobby might have an idea of what to do, and if he couldn't, he had at least always been a strong backbone for the boys to lean on. He felt like he was a kid again, wishing for someone to come in and make the problems just go away. Though Dean would never admit this to anyone.  
Sighing, he placed the pictures back to where they had been, turned out the light, and lay down on his side, pulling the blanket up and around his shoulders. He stared off into the darkness and quiet, his mind circling 'round and 'round. Always the same question, always the same problem, always the same conclusion. There was no change. If only he had of left that damn Mark of Cain alone. But no, he just HAD to take it on, just HAD to take on Abaddon himself. She seemed like such a small problem compared to the issues currently at hand. That's how they always seem. But this one just seems to be growing bigger and bigger, like a mosquito sucking out their very livelihoods and all they stood for.  
There was one option that Dean could turn to, but Sam wouldn't like it. At all. In fact, Dean wasn't all that too thrilled about it either. But things were getting desperate, even more so than before. There were no other options that he could see, and it was very unlikely that any solutions were just magically going to pop up any time soon. If he decided to do this, which was becoming more likely the more he thought on it, it would have to be done discreetly, and he'd have to find a way to prevent Sam from interfering. The cycle that the brothers had become known for had to break somewhere. All it did was bring worse and worse trouble each time. He closed his eyes, and even though he knew it was pointless, he began to pray.  
"Cas, I know I don't have any right to even be praying to you right now, and I know that what happened to you was my fault, but I- I just need to get this out, man. I have an idea that might work, but it's- I don't know. It might just be a long shot, but at this point, it really might be our only shot. I'm sorry, Cas. There isn't anything I could say that would make up for what happened, but I just need you to know I'm sorry. I'm sorry."  
Dean let the prayer stop at that, at a loss for words. A numbness that Dean was very well familiar with settled in and let his thoughts just come to a stand-still. It didn't take long before his eyes had drifted closed, and he was lost to sleep.

***

Moriarty was out wandering about again, music back in place, but this time, his mind was gloriously occupied. There were big things in the works, and the demons that Lucifer had provided had proved nothing short of efficient. It was a big step up from the usual idiots he had been forced to work with, though they still lacked in the the way of intellect. But no matter. They were merely pawns in the game, simple numbers part of the equation, and nothing more. Once they had run out of usefulness, they'd be discarded.  
But right now, everything was going according to plan. It wouldn't be long now. The famous Sherlock Holmes would play right into his hands, like the cat and the canary. The inevitable, laughably simple, predictable trend that they were bound to play out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know this chapter is still shorter (maybe even shorter than the others but please don't shoot me for it), but the purpose of this chapter is to set the scene up for the next series of events to take place. Things are about to *ahem* heat up. So please, grab your deer stalker, grab your angel blade, and hold that TARDIS key, cuz it's going to be a wild ride >:) Let me know what you think, I'd love to hear from you with any thoughts. See ya next update!


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I'd like to take a minute to apologize for how long it has taken to punch this chapter out. There's not really any other explanation I can give other than writer's block mixed with adulthood and depression can sometimes be a very toxic thing to overcome. Hopefully updates won't take as long as this one did. Also, any feedback you have is appreciated. Who knows, you may even just help the story along! Please also excuse the format this comes out in, as I've tried to make it look proper, but I'm about as good with technology as Jensen is. Actually, he's better at it than I am... Thank you guys, and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Thank you for taking time to read this story, and I really hope you enjoy it. This fanfiction is nonprofit and is simply just an idea I had in passing that wouldn't leave me be. It is solely written for the enjoyment of the fans. I do not own any of the characters in this story, as they belong to their creators: Eric Kripke, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, and Donald Wilson, and any other wonderful minds who might have had a hand in the creation of these shows and characters that I might have missed. Anything that I use from the shows that doesn't belong to me besides the actual characters, such as scenes that are tweaked, will always be referenced at the end of a chapter. No copyright infringement is intended by the writing and creation of this story.

Dean stood alone about a mile away from a campsite outside of town, breathing deeply to try and calm himself. He had managed to sneak away on his own when Sam had gone on a beer and food run, and had since turned off the GPS on his phone so Sam wouldn't be able to track where he was at. With one last deep breath, Dean screwed up his courage and closed his eyes, concentrating.  
"Amara? We need to talk," he called out, also giving out his exact location. There was a few moments of silence before anything really happened.  
"Dean." He turned around to where Amara now stood, her face unreadable.  
"Hey."  
"I must admit, I wasn't expecting to hear from you. Have you reconsidered joining me?" Dean heaved a sigh before answering.  
"I have. But I have a few conditions." Amara cocked her head at this, a puzzled but intrigued look on her face.  
"And what might those be?"  
"If I go with you, you have to leave this world alone. No more killing and no more destruction." Amara gave a little smirk.  
"You do realize that is what I am to the very core don't you? I am the origin of chaos, discord and, well, I'm not called the Darkness for nothing." She stepped closer, only a few feet away.  
"Well, that is the only way I will agree to go with you. I will come peacefully and willingly, just so long as no one else gets hurt and nothing else is destroyed." She came closer still until she was right in front of him, studying his face and contemplating.  
"I could probably manage that." She raised a hand and cupped Dean's face in a gesture that could almost be mistaken as loving if only it wasn't accompanied by the hostility that was the default setting in her eyes. Dean swallowed nervously, but nodded all the same.  
"Ok," He paused, taking a shaky breath. "How do we do this then? Do you ingest my soul or what?"  
"No. You'll be at my side. A companion and comrade, you could say. I'm very glad you came to this decision, Dean. You'll see, it's better for it to be this way." Amara took Dean's right hand in her hand that had been on his face. "All the usual fear you silly creatures experience of the chaotic and unknown will just melt away, leaving behind calm clarity. No more confusion over right and wrong. No more pain, or loss, or sorrow; only peace and freedom." As she spoke, a familiar burning deep in his veins was beginning to travel up his arm. He looked down with a hitch in his breath from the pain. When he saw what was forming just before the crease of his elbow, he looked up abruptly.  
"What are you doing? This wasn't part of the deal!" He tried to pull away, but her grip was unrelentless.  
"You're different from the rest, Dean. As I said before, you and I are bonded. We are meant to be companions, and we will go forth together, find my brother, and take revenge. And once that is done, we can move on. I know this world seems important, but you'll see. It's just ruttish codswallop." As she spoke, the burning in his arm took on the familiar shape that now matched the same mark Amara had on the left side of her chest. Dean grit his teeth and hissed at the pain as the Mark of Cain was left scarred where it had been before. Amara released his hand as the burning ebbed and dissipated, waiting for Dean to adjust.  
He was kneeling now, aware that something was slightly different this time. Immediately, he could feel himself changing. There was nothing gradual about it this time, and his whole body shuddered at the suddenness of it all. It was quiet as he remained kneeling for a moment before slowly standing up again and turning to face her. Amara grinned with satisfaction as Dean's eyes turned black with a blink of his eyes, and he ducked his head to press a deep kiss to her lips, giving in to feelings that drew him to her.

***

"So where are we going, and why exactly are we in our Sunday finest?" John questioned as he followed Sherlock out to the sidewalk, who was now hailing a cab. Sherlock didn't answer right away, instead climbing in and seating himself comfortably, Watson settling beside him.  
"Really, John, I would expect you to be paying more attention. We're going to lunch, and though in this day and age comfort is preferable, a five star restaurant isn't exactly the place for housecoats and pajama trousers."  
"Right, well, you didn't exactly tell me we where we were going and why until just now. A bit hard to know these things when the only information you're given is to dress up nicely."  
"Did I not mention it before?"  
"Honestly, Sherlock, you're the only person I know who can talk to mid-air and get a response without being completely mad. Is there a particular reason for this little excursion?"  
"'The play's the thing', John." And with that, no other explanation was forthcoming. With a final sigh from John, they traveled in silence until they pulled up in front of a restaurant that was very well known for their excellent service, delectable food, impeccable atmosphere, and extravagant prices.  
They went through all of the usual motions of being seated and ordering drinks before they were left to peruse the menu. Before the waitress could come to take their order, Sherlock was up again and making his way over to another table close to theirs where a man dressed in a black suit with a gold tie was sitting along with a company of at least six other men. John watched as Sherlock addressed the man with the gold tie, introducing himself.   
"Prime Minister Saxon, pardon my intrusion, but my associate here," he gestured absently toward where John was still sitting, "was just telling me all about the work you've been doing with Scotland Yard to crack down on crime, and I must say that it is refreshing to see someone finally competent enough to keep up with the mediocrity of the criminal mind besides myself. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Sher-"  
"The great Sherlock Holmes. Yes, I've been informed about you and your crack detective work and over-inflated self-worth, as well as your stuffy aristocratic brother. What were those nicknames again?" Mr. Saxon said, pinching his face together unattractively and snapping his fingers as if that would help refresh his mind. A moment later his whole face lit up with exaggerated realization. "Ah yes! The Virgin and the Ice Man!" The men seated around Saxon's table all chuckled under their breath.   
"Tell me," Saxon said as he leaned in, chin in his hand, "is it hard balancing incompetence with ignorance while being a showboat?"  
"Despite your uncanny appearance out of nowhere into the position you now hold, I'm sure, Mr. Saxon, that you are aware of the reappearance of a criminal mastermind that was previously presumed dead. In all your extensive work with Scotland Yard, have any of the crimes you've prevented or intervened related back to one James Moriarty? Surely with your amount of luck and coincidence, something must have turned up," Sherlock asked. John got up from their table and approached Saxon's as well with an uneasy feeling of how this conversation was going to go.   
"Do my ears deceive me? The great Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in existence, asking for help? And not even from the police, but from a government official! My, how you've fallen," the Prime Misnister replied. He cackled out a laugh, and his companions chuckled along. John had heard enough.  
"A little decorum would be appreciated, sir."  
"John," Sherlock said, his tone easy.  
"No, this is ridiculous. There is no need for petty insults at a mere inquiry," he replied, fixing the Prime Minister with a hard look. No one paid any attention as the waitress came and began to take away dirty plates, obviously trying to do her job without attracting too much attention.  
"Guard dogs can be so trying, can't they?" Saxon quipped, absently tapping out a four beat rhythm on the table with his fingers. John's hands balled into fists at his sides.  
"This may be a fancy restaurant, but it would not be the first time I've added a little color to someones face publicly," He stated, his voice low and serious. Sherlock put a hand on John's shoulder.  
"Yes, that will do, John. Excuse us, gentlemen, we will let you return to your meal. Oh, and please do give him my regards," Sherlock commented with a smirk. Mr. Saxon quirked his lips as well.  
"Which one?"  
"Either will do." And with that, Sherlock gave John a nudge and they returned to their table. John was shaking his head, trying to calm down.  
"Of all the-"  
"It's alright, John, you did marvelously," Sherlock said distractedly as he picked up his menu and began looking it over. John studied him for a moment in confusion, before shaking his head, sighing, and taking up his menu as well, decided not to ask what that could possibly mean. After a few minutes, the new Prime Minister and his band of cohorts left, chatting amongst themselves.  
When next the waitress came to their table, instead of taking the order for their meal, she set two plates in front of them. On Sherlock's plate was chicken alfredo, and on John's plate was steak, rare and bloody. Sherlock and John exchanged a puzzled look.  
"Excuse me, I think there's been some sort of mistake. We haven't actually placed an order yet," John told the waitress before she could walk away. She shook her head in return.  
"Oh no, these were placed and paid for by that group you guys were talking to. I'm sorry, do you want something else?" She offered, looking between the two men. If John didn't know better, he would say that the look she gave Sherlock lingered slightly too long, but he disregarded it. Flirting was lost on Sherlock.  
"No, thank you. Though we will take a box to go," Sherlock said, and handed her his menu. She nodded and took their menus, leaving to get their boxes.  
Boxed meals and a hailed cab later, John and Sherlock were on their way back to Baker Street.  
"So what exactly was that back there, Sherlock?"  
"That was a magic trick, and the crowd played into it beautifully." John waited for further explanation, but per usual, none was forthcoming.  
"Meaning?" John prompted further.  
"Mycroft informed me that this new Prime Minister, who as we know appeared out of nowhere for no reason and without any say from anyone, would be dining at the restaurant we just left today at noon. Ever since we discovered Ten by his side in that interview after we lost contact with both of the Doctors, Rose and Jack, I needed to meet with him to try and glean anything off of him that I could."  
"And what did you find?"  
"His appearance on the scene is odd enough, but why isn't anyone making a big deal out of it? Why is no one batting an eye at it? Upon closer examination of the footage of the interview including Ten, if paused at the right moment, he appears to have black eyes in one of the frames. On Mr. Saxon's left sleeve was a few specks of yellow dust, and the ever so faint aroma of sulfur; barely there, hard to notice unless close and actually looking for it. The WInchesters' lore said sulfur was a sign of demonic activity. Thus, our dear Ten has been possessed and the others are being held against their will.  
Now, the man himself is an interesting specimen. His outfit was of very expensive make, and the meal that he had ordered was the most expensive one on the menu. That, coupled with his boastful and loud behavior, it's apparent that he is very confident in all that he does. He has big plans in the works, and he has help, which is exactly why no one of importance has questioned him or raised alarm. Demons helping him means Lucifer has been in contact with them and they're working together, obviously."  
"And I take it our pre-ordered meals are a joke at our expense?"  
"Yes. However, his little joke was on him." Sherlock opened the container that held the chicken alfredo. Using two fingers, he dug into it before pulling out a key. "He really should pay more attention to his surroundings." John looked between the key and Sherlock.  
"The waitress? It was all a distraction."  
"Indeed; one of my homeless network. It's time to find our new friends." John nodded. Another thought crossed his mind.  
"What did he mean when he asked which one to give your regards to?"  
"That was one more deduction that I made, and it is a very important one."  
"What's that?"  
"The nicknames Mr. Saxon mentioned were given by Moriarty. Our witch hunt just got a little more interesting."

***

The first thing he registered was bright light. Then fresh air as it filled his lungs. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath, as he usually did when this happened. Sitting up, he looked around. He was in a wooded area that he didn't immediately recognize, though he knew he was in Kansas.   
Odd memories floated through his mind in an almost dream-like sequence; blurry in some places, clear in others. He knew what had happened, and yet he was still surprised. But that could be focused on later. For now, there was a presence in the tree line standing idly, watching him. He stood, blinking and wary of this strange being.  
It was in the form of a human girl with blonde hair and intense brown eyes, gold glowing at their center. She was dressed in odd clothes, an almost post-apocalyptic tan dress, with black boots. Her outward appearance may have been human, but that was where the similarities stopped. A blinding gold power source that showed in her eyes hummed at her core, and it sang in melodies otherworldly and ancient. It was beautiful. It did not inhabit a human host, but instead the outer-most layer of the power source had compacted enough to act as a vessel. The being made no move to hurt him, instead just watching him as well.   
"Hello, Castiel." Castiel cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  
"Who are you, and how do you know my name?" The being slowly stepped closer.  
"I have many names, many faces, many forms. Though this one can be a bit confusing at times. In this form, I am Bad Wolf," the girl explained, her tone patient and calm.  
"You're named after a children's story antagonist?"  
"It's unique, and a little clever, if I don't say so myself. Unique names break up the monotony. Much like yours, as well as the other angels'."  
"How did you know that I am an angel? And you did not answer my previous question of how you know my name." The girl smiled.  
"I create myself. I take life, and I give life. I see all. I made all." There was a pause. "Perhaps this will help." One moment the being before him was the blonde girl, and the next she had dissolved into the former prophet, Chuck. Castiel's eyes grew wide as the pieces started to come together.  
"You were never a prophet. You're-"  
"God? Yes." All Castiel could do was soundlessly stare at the being before him. At once, strong emotions overtook him one after another. Awe, fear, confusion, love, sadness and anger all settled at his core. He did not have a clue how to respond, or how to deal with the tumultuous feelings that he thought he was past. All he could do was stare.  
"I know this is a bit much..." Castiel's stare hardened and he glared across the little space between them through the tears that now lined his eyes.   
"Where have you been?" He demanded. He couldn't help the emotion that thickly coated his words. "After all that has happened, what could have happened, why?!" Chuck raised his hands in an attempt to placate Castiel.  
"I know things have been a little rough-" Castiel's voice was low, emotional, and despite who he was talking to, dangerous, when he interrupted.  
"'A little rough'? The world almost died. Your children, human and angel alike, have prayed to you countless times, and you ignored all of it. You left the angels with a world in shambles to run without guidance, and disregarded all cries for help. You threw us all away," He drew in a shaking breath, his lips trembling slightly. "You threw me away. After all the faith I put into you..." Chuck's eyes softened, but he offered no input. This reveal had been a long time in coming, and he knew that it would not be an easy one, for any of them. He stayed quiet, content to let Castiel say or do what he needed. When Chuck made no attempt to explain, Castiel's sadness began to twist into the anger and rage that had long resided in his heart toward his father.  
"You were right there! Right there, watching as we all cleaned up your mess! Sacrificing our lives, everything we had, because you couldn't be bothered!" Castiel shook his head in disbelief. In that moment, Castiel understood why Dean was always at least a little angry, especially when his father was mentioned; why he acted the way he did. Castiel understood, and his heart broke for it. Each breath was heavy and difficult, as if he were physically loaded down with his emotions.  
"I know," Chuck began quietly. "I know. I'm sorry. Truly, I am. I thought if I stepped away, things would fall in to place on their own. And, though you may not see it, or want to see it, I believe that they have, in a way. A child can not learn to stand on its own if the parent does it for them." Chuck stepped closer. "There are no explanations that I could offer that would excuse my silence. I know that. But I did not throw you away. I have brought you back so many times, just as I did here. Of all of my children, you obeyed despite how many times you were corrected or shunned by the other angels. I have heard all of your prayers, but there was no reason to answer the ones asking for guidance. You had the Winchesters for that. I know I've made some wrong decisions, but please, let me try to make up for them now." Castiel looked away, thinking.  
He was still hurt by his father's actions, or rather inaction. Why should he give him a chance, when all the pain that Heaven, humanity, the angels, himself, and the Winchesters had to endure could have been avoided if he had of stepped up? Castiel did see his point, about teaching all of them to stand on their own, but where does the line between teaching and neglect get drawn? He loves his father, but does he deserve this chance? Or should he use the lesson his father was trying to instill, and turn it on him? There was so much gray area to this, much like humanity itself. Though he was unsure of what to do here, he knew who could help. He looked back at his father, his jaw set and his eyes stony.  
"I am not the only you abandoned, and I am certainly not the only you have to make your amends to. We will go and speak with the Winchesters, and we will make our decision then." Chuck nodded, a small smile on his lips.  
"I understand. Thank you." Chuck raised his hand, and with the snap of his fingers, both he and Castiel vanished, only to appear seconds later outside the Winchester's bunker.

***

Back in London and all surrounding areas, just the morning after Sherlock and John's lunchtime adventure, everything was pandemonium. Overnight had brought about an event that no one could make any actual sense of. Phones at police stations and Scotland Yard were ringing off the hook, all with people calling in to report crimes that ranged from a simple robbery, to kidnappings, to murder. The news channels tried to keep up with each new update, but they were popping up quicker than the reporters could keep up; so they kept each update as informed as they could while grabbing at any information they could get.  
The Law was doing their best, but despite their best efforts, they were quickly in over their heads. Each department was stretched as thin as they could manage. The public was demanding an explanation, but there was none to give. It wasn't long before Sherlock's email, and any other way to get into contact with the great consulting detective, was exhausted within a few hours of the day.   
John was immediately contacted and, from the table closest to the window of the cafe next to 221B Baker Street with a sandwich and coffee, Moriarty watched as the pair rushed into a cab and sped off to Scotland Yard. He smiled to himself softly and continued on with his lunch. It was going to be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! You all thought this was my standard outro didn't you? That'll follow after this little bit, I just had a few details about the story I wanted to share. First off, Amara. I kind of tweaked her characterization in this story because, while I liked how she ended up in canon, I also liked the fact that she was the very definition of evil and darkness. So that's the way I kept her. Also, you may notice I throw in some weird off-the-wall words in her vocabulary; this is intentional. I try to add in a few Old English/Medieval words to (attempt) to show her age off a bit. Ok, fun fact (hopefully) about the scene between Sherlock, John, and The Master: that was a dream I'd had (also, if you didn't like it, perhaps that's why? I dunno, just a suggestion). I totally woke up and thought, "Yeah, that seems kinda like something Sherlock would do." Next, Cas is back! I really hope you all like this scene because I felt in canon that not only was the confrontation between Lucifer and Chuck was not near enough, but also that Cas deserved an explanation too. Just because Lucifer had been in Cas' vessel, and Cas was there too, was not good enough a reason to overlook the reunion of Cas and Chuck as well, at least for me it wasn't. I know there's time limits, but still... So naturally I took things in my own hands and hopefully this helps a bit. As far as Bad Wolf goes, that will get explained more later, don't worry. Can't give away all my secrets just yet! And finally, that last scene: well, not really much to say on that yet. Stay tuned! And of course, thank you!
> 
> The scene where Dean meets up with Amara was drawn from episode 21, All in the Family of Supernatural. The scene where Bad Wolf is explaining who she is was drawn from the thirteenth episode of the first series of New Who (revised Doctor Who) and the speech that Bad Wolf makes. The original scenes belongs to the writers of Supernatural and Doctor Who, and the ones in this story was tweaked to fit the storyline. I do not claim the originals. Any dialogue that the characters use that are also used in the shows ("It's bigger on the inside" for example) belong to their respective writers as well.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fan fiction is nonprofit and is simply just an idea I had in passing that wouldn't leave me be. It is solely written for the enjoyment of the fans. I do not own any of the characters in this story, as they belong to their creators: Eric Kripke, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, and Donald Wilson, and any other wonderful minds who might have had a hand in the creation of these shows and characters that I might have missed. Anything that I use from the shows that doesn't belong to me besides the actual characters, such as scenes that are tweaked, will always be referenced at the end of a chapter. No copyright infringement is intended by the writing and creation of this story.
> 
> OK! Trying something new with the format the chapters get published in. Hopefully this way will be a bit easier to read. ALSO: one, sorry for shouting. Not really, but you know... Two, thar be references a-brewin'! Too much? Sorry (not really :3) By the way, I know that whenever I publish a new chapter, in the end notes is the end notes from the very first chapter; please ignore that and only read the new ones, as I am technologically challenged and have no idea how to get rid of it. Sorry folks! Enjoy!

It was going to be one of those days, John could just feel it. It was only ten in the morning, and already Hell had broken loose. And boy, did John wish that pun didn't hit home as much as it did. Though he probably shouldn't be surprised, really. Things never were very orthodox in a life with Sherlock in it, and now with the addition of their new acquaintances, well, John had about reached his limit of his brush with the supernatural. 

He was standing in Lestrade's office now, listening to the run-down of strange occurrences that had literally sprung up overnight. So many cases were being reported that the phones were beginning to get backed up. Nothing like this had ever happened before and everyone was very confused, concerned, and beginning to panic. It was this course of events that had brought the detective and his blogger to Scotland Yard, hoping that he could give some insight to what was happening, and what to do. All of this combined with the fact that they hadn't had a chance to find and free both Doctors, Rose, and Jack, they were quickly becoming overwhelmed at their new work load.

John watched Sherlock as he bounded around the room, from one case to another, presumably trying to find any similarities between them. From what he himself could see, all of this was a mess of criminals taking opportunities in the recent chaos of the last week or so. Strange weather, earthquakes, Prime Ministers popping up out of nowhere; the general populace consensus is confusion and fear at the possibilities of what it all could mean, and of course opportunists would be taking advantage.

Sherlock's erratic path through the offices continued as John's phone suddenly sounded in his pocket, signaling a text message. John fished it out and read the message.

"Sherlock, Mycroft just texted. Says there's been another power surge back in the States, only this time they're having a hard time pinpointing the exact location." Sherlock stopped his pacing and turned to John.

"No physical evidence?"

"None. Unlike the other times, the only evidence there was even a surge was a ton of power outages near Lebanon, Kansas." John met Sherlock's eyes and sighed. It did not take a genius to figure out that this was related to their new American cohorts. Now the only question was, why was this time different and what did the proximity to where the Winchesters called home have to do with it? Sherlock turned to Lestrade.

"Unfortunately, the best thing I can advise at this time is to attack each case as best you can and try to take in all surroundings. And whatever you do, don't underestimate the possibilities of the impossible. This could be the result of anything, and the best thing to do now is do your best."

"That's it? 'Do your best'? No rants about what this is and how obvious it is how they're all connected?" Lestrade asked, taken aback at the nonchalance Sherlock was displaying towards the situation. Sherlock sighed.

"The situation you are experiencing is the result of a much bigger problem which, if left unattended, has the potential to get infinitely worse than your little mind can currently imagine. All I can offer at this time is be careful, vigilant, and for Heaven's sakes, if you see black eyes, do not engage."

"Black eyes?" Lestrade made a face, turning to John and, for the millionth time, questioning Sherlock's sanity. 

"Unfortunately, he's right," John chimed in. "As strange as it sounds, if you see black eyes in anyone, get away if you can." Lestrade sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, walking with them towards the exit.

"Alright then, I guess-" Lestrade was cut off mid-sentence by another ping of John's phone with another text message, which John opened immediately and read.

"Sherlock, it's Mary! She's gone into labor- I have to go! Now!" John rushed out, running down the hall and out the door with Sherlock in tow.

***

Castiel and Chuck now stood outside the Winchester's bunker, but did not see the Impala anywhere. It was most likely they were out on a case of some sort, so Castiel went ahead and entered. He and Chuck walked down the stairs and down into the library, not expecting to see Crowley sitting in one of the armchairs with his usual tumbler of bourbon and a thick tome of some sort. Crowley looked up at their approaching footsteps and sighed.

"Now that really is just unfair." Castiel wasted no time in pleasantries with the demon.

"Where are Sam and Dean?" 

"Nice to see you too. Don't suppose you'd care for a drink?" Castiel's glare hardened when he tried again.

"Where are they, Crowley?" Then his brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you even doing here?"

"Turns out the only safe place from Lucifer is your pets’ doghouse. As to your other question, Samantha has been out looking for dear Squirrel when he can spare any time since he has turned up missing." Crowley's eyes flicked to Chuck, standing just behind Castiel. "And who is this, exactly?"

"My father. Give me your phone, I don't have mine." Castiel held out his hand expectantly. Crowley just stared with wide eyes for a moment.

"Excuse me, did you say-"

"Yes, my father. Your phone, Crowley." Castiel was growing impatient. Crowley reached into his pocket without removing his eyes from Chuck.

"Fine, here." He handed over the phone, which Castiel took quickly and began to call Sam when he found his number under 'Moose' in the contacts. He turned away to be able to talk, leaving Chuck and Crowley alone. Crowley cleared his throat.

"I suppose I have some explaining to do-" Chuck raised his hand, cutting Crowley off.

"I already know." Crowley looked around, unsure what to say or how to respond. After a moment, he cleared his throat again and, taking his drink, excused himself muttering something about 'seeing what Mother was up to', slinking out of the room. Chuck rolled his eyes watching him. Behind him, Castiel was trying several times to get ahold of either Winchester. Trying Dean twice and both times getting nowhere, he turned to calling Sam.

"What, Crowley? I don't have time for this!" Sam answered, obviously upset.

"Hello, Sam." There was a beat of silence.

"Cas?"

"Yes."

"Holy shit, Cas! We thought you were gone for good this time!"

"Yes, well I'm back now. Where's Dean? I have something of great significance that we need to discuss."

"That's what I'm trying to find out. He's gone missing, and I haven't been able to track him. What's the important news?" Castiel sighed deeply.

"My father is back." The only answer he got was silence. When the silence stretched on, Castiel checked the phone to make sure Sam was still on the line. "Sam?" Sam cleared his throat.

"Yeah, uh, I'm still here. Your father?"

"Yes." Another beat of silence.

"Holy shit."

"An astute and accurate description of the entire situation," Castiel deadpanned. 

"Okay, give me half an hour and I'll be there." Castiel could hear his pace pick up. 

"Yes, okay. We'll be here," he said, hearing the line click off before he even finished speaking. He rolled his eyes and put the phone on the table. Some things never change, including the Winchesters' cellular etiquette. Castiel turned to Chuck.

"He's going to be here in half an hour." Chuck gave him a little smile.

"Okay." They stood awkwardly, not knowing what to say. And there they stayed for the next half hour until Sam came through the door. He was out of breath, having obviously rushed to get back, and his eyes were wide. He embraced Castiel for a quick hug then released him.

"Hey! It's good to see you. You look good."

"Thank you," Castiel replied, then turned his gaze to his Father. Sam followed his gaze, blinking in amazement.

"Chuck?"

"Hey, Sam," he greeted with the smile back in place. Sam's brow creased further in confusion.

"What the hell, man? You're... God?" Sam questioned, his tone both skeptical and awestruck.

"Yes. I know you have a lot of questions-"

"Yeah, something like that. Where have you been?" Sam asked, cutting Chuck off. Chuck sighed and sat down in one of the chairs.

"I've been around."

"Around? Why didn't you say anything before? You've known we were looking for you, you could have-" Chuck held up a hand, cutting Sam off this time.

"I will answer your questions, but I think we should find the others first. There's big things going on that we should probably get a move on taking care of." Sam looked like he wanted to object, but after a moment of thought he shook his head and then sighed.

"You're right. Some of the people we've been working with have gone missing, including Dean. I have no idea where he is. There's been all sorts of signs of jobs all over, with not enough Hunters to do them; everything is just becoming one big mess." Sam sat down at the table and pulled the laptop laying on it in front of him, starting it up with another sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose. He briefly looked at Castiel, who was watching him. "How you doing, Cas?" Castiel sat beside Sam on his other side.

"I'm alright. I don't feel drained, and instead I almost feel like I used to feel before. Something is odd though. I hear Angel Radio, but I also catch these other waves, some sort of radio station." Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Before? Like, 'before the Angels fell' before?"

"Yes," Castiel nodded.

"That was my doing actually. I, uh, restored your powers. And your wings," Chuck added quietly. Castiel and Sam both turned to him, surprised yet again.

"You did?" Both Sam and Castiel said in unison, giving each other an almost disbelieving look.

"Yeah. Though I'm not sure about that other radio frequency you're hearing. That wasn't my doing." Chuck's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Maybe you're just picking up on a local station. Things have been weird lately. Maybe the waves from that station are just stronger than others," Sam suggested offhandedly. With everything that had happened, Cas picking up on a radio station wasn't really a concern to Sam. There were more important things to worry about.

"Perhaps," Castiel began, but his eyes got a far-away look. "It's a rather strange show. The host, whose name seems to be Cecil, keeps mentioning a place called Night Vale, hails something called a Glow Cloud, and is obsessed with someone named Carlos."

"It kinda sounds like one of those late night radio talk shows with conspiracy theorists," Sam chuckled. Leave it to Cas to get stuck with Angel Radio AND some crazy talk show. When the laptop was ready to be used, Sam turned to it and began typing away on it. Castiel could see that Sam was looking up anything that had to do with the Prime Minister, whom Castiel did not recognize but could see a strange aura coming from even in the pictures. Whoever he was, he was not human. Chuck in the meantime got up from where he sat and began to wander around the library, looking at the artifacts and the books, promptly being ignored by Castiel, who was simply sitting and waiting.

In one of the back rooms, something clattered loudly followed by the sound of Crowley and Rowena bickering over something. Sam rolled his eyes. Sometimes he felt like he was stuck in some bizarre babysitting nightmare. He was debating going and intervening, because who knew what Rowena and Crowley had gotten into, but stopped when his text tone went off. As he pulled his phone out of his pocket, Chuck turned to Sam and said he would go see what those two had gotten into and handle the situation. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't just a little nervous about letting Chuck handling it, even if he was God. 

That thought aside, Sam opened up the messenger on the phone and read the text. It wasn't from Dean, like Sam was hoping. Instead it was from Sherlock. It simply stated that he had found out that Ten was possessed by a demon, and the new Prime Minister was working with the demons. It looked like Sam would need to delve deeper into this new guy and find out anything he could about him. It may be important later.

***

This was a new feeling for Ten. He was not in control of his body, and that only served to anger him. But what angered him more, and broke his heart, was the look he'd seen in Rose's eyes while she'd been bound and gagged on the floor of the TARDIS. He wanted so badly to go to her and tell her it would all be alright. But try as he may, he could not shake the firm hold the demon had on him. He would have to bide his time. 

He reflected on how the demon had possessed him in the first place. When they had all been at 221B Baker Street, and he had offered to assist Mrs. Hudson with the tea. At the time, he had dismissed her quiet, calculative behavior. But, as they say, hindsight is twenty/twenty, and when they had been alone, the demon had exited Mrs. Hudson and forced itself into Ten. When the demon had tried to push Ten's soul into unconsciousness, he had been able to resist at least that. 

Of course, that just meant that now he had a front row seat while his body moved at the will of another. Sometimes, they were very unpleasant tasks. But for the most part, it was almost boring and Ten knew that he was probably lucky for that. He'd heard his fair share of horror stories, and knew that if the demon possessing him was anything like the ones he's read or heard about, that he's very lucky that the Master was in charge and only wanted Ten at his side most of the time. At least no one had died at his hand. The Master continuously commanded that the demon try to pry into Ten's memories, to which Ten fought as hard as he could to prevent. For the most part he did well. Even as a human Metacrisis Doctor, his mind was impeccably sharp and the demon only really succeeded at keeping control of his body. If only now he could catch the demon at a weak moment and overpower it.

In one such attempt at finding a weakness, Ten began talking. And talking. And Talking. About anything and everything that came to his mind, save for the important, sensitive things he didn't want to talk about. And much to his amusement, the demon was constantly annoyed. The demon tried to shut him up several times, but Ten would just keep chattering away, fast-paced or incredibly drawn out. It maybe wasn't his first choice of fighting back, but hey, who needs guns and violence when you have the powers of a Chatty-Cathy?

And that's how he found himself now, gabbing on about the ideal height to cut the apple grass on New Earth to get the most out of the apple scent as the demon made his way to the Master's office. He was to "get some forms he needed to sign", which translated to "do a routine check on the TARDIS since you’re the 'assistant' and it will look less suspicious and I have to at least appear busy". The routine checks as well as having Eleven, Rose and Jack removed made it loud and clear that the Master was taking no chances of losing his control on the situation like before. The demon had just entered the office door and closed it behind himself when the demon took a moment to lash at Ten.

"Seriously, don't you ever shut up? Honestly! On and on and on and on and ON! Never taking a breath!" the demon said out loud, making Ten's hands grab at his hair like he was going to pull it out.

"I don't need to breath right now, you're doing that for me, and I can just talk at liberty. It's quite fascinating if you really-"

"SHUT UP!" The demon shouted, now balling his hands into fists and slamming one on the desk.

"They say it's when the voices in your head talk back is when you're in real trouble," a voice said from behind him, causing the demon to whip around. There stood Sherlock, his hands behind his back and looking completely unconcerned that he was standing in the presence of a demon. The demon didn't reply, only began to step forward to charge Sherlock. He only got a couple of steps before he was forcibly stopped. The demon frantically looked around. Sherlock cleared his throat, then stepped forward until he was just a couple feet away.

 

"And here I thought it'd be difficult to capture a demon. Turns out even the supernatural with all their powers are predictable and incompetent," he continued, finishing with a small smile.

"I'm going to rip your heart out and feed it to you while it's still beating," the demon snarled. Sherlock gave a little hum in response.

"Apparently you also have the creativity of a prepubescent teenager. No matter. You, my ill-tempered dull-minded friend, may go directly back to Hell. Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te...cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare...Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis...Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei; contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine...quem inferi tremunt...Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos." 

As Sherlock quoted the exorcism from memory, the demon began snarling and growling, but he did not falter once. As soon as the exorcism was finished, Ten screamed as a thick, black smoke ascended from his throat and out through a vent. Ten's body collapsed, unconscious, and Sherlock hastened to him, checking his vitals. Ten was alive. It was only a moment later that Ten's eyes opened again and he slowly began to get up. Sherlock helped him as best as he could.

"Thank you," Ten said with a sigh. "I was beginning to wonder if I was going to run out of things to talk about." Sherlock's brow furrowed.

"I'm sorry?"

"Er, nevermind. How did you get here?"

"Elementary, my dear Doctor. Now, where are the others?" Sherlock began towards the TARDIS still sitting where the Master had left it.

"They aren't in there." Sherlock paused then turned back to Ten.

"Where are they?"

"The Master, or Mr. Saxon as he's known to everyone else, had them removed. They've been taken to a cell in Hell."

"Hell?" He sighed, "Of course. So wait a minute, you said that he's known to everyone else as 'Mr. Saxon', but to you he's 'the Master'. You know him?"

"Yes, he and I- well, the original Doctor- go way back. Grew up together actually," the Doctor answered.

"Well, that answers some questions," Sherlock paused, pointing to the TARDIS. "Do you know how to fly this thing too?" Ten gave his affirmative response. 

"Perfect. We need to take this and go to the WInchesters' Bunker. They'll know how to get to the others and it'll get this contraption away from Saxon." He walked towards the TARDIS, followed by Ten. Upon entering, Ten started her up, and they were on their way to the Bunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene where Sam finds out about Chuck is very loosely based on a similar scene at the beginning of Supernatural season eleven episode twenty-one called All In the Family. The original scenes belongs to the writers of Supernatural, and the one in this story was tweaked to fit the storyline. I do not claim the originals. Any dialogue that the characters use that are also used in the shows ("It's bigger on the inside" for example) belong to their respective writers as well.
> 
> If you happen to see anything that I might have missed out giving credit for that is in actual canon, let me know and I will correct it immediately. Thank you guys so much for reading, and again so sorry for the delay. I've got the notes written out for the next chapter already, so it should get published a lot sooner than these last two. Comments, kudos, anything really is always appreciated, so let me know what you think ;) Thank you!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking time to read this story, and I really hope you enjoy it. This fanfiction is nonprofit and is simply just an idea I had in passing that wouldn't leave me be. It is solely written for the enjoyment of the fans. I do not own any of the characters in this story, as they belong to their creators: Eric Kripke, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, and Donald Wilson, and any other wonderful minds who might have had a hand in the creation of these shows and characters that I might have missed. Anything that I use from the shows that doesn't belong to me besides the actual characters, such as scenes that are tweaked, will always be referenced at the end of a chapter. No copyright infringement is intended by the writing and creation of this story.

John stood beside Mary's bedside in Hospital, gently trailing his hand through the back of her hair lovingly. In her arms, little Rosie Watson was snugly wrapped in a warm blanket, sound asleep. Mary smiled tiredly, looking away from Rosie's face to look up at John, who gave her a warm smile as well. They had both woken up when Rosie had started crying for milk, and they were equally tired. On a whim, John leaned down and kissed Mary gently, lingering for only a few seconds and doing his best not to jostle Rosie too much.

"Feeling alright?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah," Mary sighed. "Any news?" They hadn't heard anything since that evening when Sherlock had left to try to get into Saxon's office. John had felt like he should have gone with, but Sherlock had insisted that he'd be fine and that Mary would need him more than he would. He had even gone so far as to get Mary to try to convince him as well. In the end, he had relented on the condition Sherlock keep him informed of any new developments. Shrugging, John went over to his bag where his phone was and turned it on.

"Text from Sherlock. 'Doctor, Rose and Jack not in office. Ten and TARDIS have been obtained. At Winchesters' Bunker. Details later'," John read aloud. He sent an acknowledgement, then wandered back to Mary's side.

"Well that's a relief. At least that's one less worry," she whispered. "Hopefully they'll be able to find out where the others are."

"Yeah." They sat in silence for a few more minutes before John very carefully took Rosie and lay her in the mobile crib by the bed when Mary's arms got tired. They shared one more kiss and a goodnight, then Mary dozed off. John went to his makeshift bed by the window and lay down staring at the ceiling with sleepy eyes.

Once again he couldn't believe how much his life had changed in such a short amount of time. However, since they had returned back home, he wasn't filled with the same sense of dread he'd had when they'd been at the Winchesters' Bunker. He was back on familiar ground, and he was glad for it. He fell asleep with grateful, relieved peace. Hopefully now they could continue with their normal jobs, raise their daughter, and leave the supernatural to the professionals crazy enough to do it.

***

Castiel was sitting down at one of the tables in the library, thumbing through one of the many archives that the Bunker had to offer absently. Though, in all honesty he wasn't really paying attention, and couldn't name what the archive was about if he was asked. He was patiently waiting to hear any news of Dean, Amara, or Lucifer. Sam had explained some of what he had missed, and it had all been a little much to take in. 

He only vaguely remembered seeing Dean in the fraction of a second when Lucifer had left his vessel at the very last second, and then there had been nothing. The rest of the time Lucifer had occupied his vessel, he had simply remained in a little corner of his mind, staying out of the way. Letting Lucifer occupy him had been a mistake. It had done nothing to help in the fight against the Darkness. And to make things worse, which was apparently his schtick, since he had no memory of the goings on whilst occupied, he had no inside information to offer that could be of any use. Perhaps his usefulness had finally run its course. 

His line of thought was interrupted by the door to the Bunker opening and closing. This was confusing because as far as he knew, Sam was in his room, Crowley and Rowena were wandering around, and his Father was in the kitchen doing only He knows what. Was it Dean maybe? Hopefully?

He turned in his seat and craned his neck to look up to the final door of the Bunker that leads into the room with the map table. Two men he did not recognize, one with dark curly hair and sharp cheek bones (the name on his soul written in Enochian was Sherlock Holmes) and the other skinny with spikey short brown hair - his soul was a bit harder to read, but one word that stood out to him was "Doctor"- walked in as though they had done it several times before. Castiel knew that these men had to be some of the people the Winchesters had been working with, but that didn't make him any less suspicious.

Castiel stood up from his chair as the two men entered the room, and when their eyes landed on him, they stopped. Their confusion, shock and fear was very obvious. However, the source of these reactions was lost on him.

"Who are you?" he asked. 

"What are you doing here?" demanded Sherlock, hysteria skirting the edges of his voice. "This can't be possible. You were dead!" Castiel cocked his head at him.

"I was, but I'm not... now," he said, tapering off in slight confusion. He wasn't sure how to go about this social interaction. And to add to his confusion, the two men just stared at him. However, the "Doctor's" expression was turning into one of intrigued surprise.

"Uh..." Cas searched his mind for something to say, something to do. Thankfully, he was saved when Sam entered the room. 

"Hey. Ten, you're alright?" he asked, approaching them. The Doctor, Ten, stepped forward to begin walking around Castiel curiously.

"Oh, I'm fantastic! Look at you!" Ten got close to Castiel's face, looking him close in his eyes, to which Cas squinted and tilted his head but did not back away even slightly. Sam chuckled quietly under his breath.

"Good to have you back. Sherlock, Ten, this is Castiel, Angel of the Lord." 

"How-?" Sherlock was still in shock. To have watched a man die, only to see him standing in front of him once more, looking no worse for wear? He knew that there was more to the supernatural. Hell, he'd just exorcised a demon out of a half-alien and was helping in a fight to protect God knows how many universes now combined to one! But a dead man alive again, and not of the result of some cleverly laid out trick? It was still disorienting.

"I was brought back. Revived, by my- by my Father," Castiel explained, just standing and letting Ten pick and poke at him.

"Your Father? Wouldn't that mean-?" Ten stopped, eyes wide and searching.

"Yes." Castiel deadpanned. Ten beamed brightly.

"Oh, that's brilliant!" Castiel's attention shifted slightly from Ten's face to land on Sherlock, who was flushed and breaking out in a sweat. His breathing had picked up and suddenly he was very fidgety.

"You alright?" Sam asked, concerned. Sherlock only shook his head and closed his eyes tightly. 

"Let's get him to a chair. Come on," Ten got the closest chair there in the map room and guided a very distracted Sherlock into it. He said nothing and kept his eyes closed as if trying to distract himself. They all felt pity for him. In his mind, his whole understanding of the world was being re-written to encompass a spectrum of previously conceived impossibilities. For one's whole world to be changed as he knew it was not an easy feat. 

If he was being honest, the Doctor wasn't far behind with a similar reaction, though he was coping slightly better. However, whether or not the Doctor believed that this really was THE God, for at least the universe that the Winchesters were from, He was. It was a lot to wrap one's head around, and one could easily get lost in it all, but the Doctor (any form of him, meta-crisis or original) has dealt with similar situations before. As he had once stated, that was why he traveled.

"So what all happened?" Sam asked Ten, turning back to the matters at hand. Ten told him of his time being possessed, how the demon was working for Saxon who was working with Lucifer, and how Sherlock had helped him by exorcising the demon.

"The others, Rose, Jack and the original Doctor, are somewhere in Hell. Saxon had them moved there" Sam nodded, his brow pinched in thought. He turned to Castiel.

"Okay. Cas, you feeling up to a rescue mission?" Castiel stood a little straighter.

"Of course."

"Alright. You and I will go to Hell and find the others."

"I'm coming too," Ten interjected.

"No, man. Just wait here. We've been to Hell, numerous times. We'll find them and bring them back in no time. Besides, I need you here to keep an eye on him," Sam said, gesturing to Sherlock.

"My wife has been kidnapped, sent to who-knows-where in Hell, and she has seen her husband possessed. The day I sit back and instead of saving her myself, is the day I die. I'm coming with you." Ten was steadfast in this decision. Sighing, Sam thought for a moment, then got an idea. 

"Okay fine. Here's how this is going to go. You, me, and Cas are going to go to Hell and get the others. Sherlock," Sherlock looked up, but his eyes were distant and distracted. "I have a job for you that requires your deductive skills." At this, Sherlock's eyes cleared at this.

"Speak." He said quickly.

"Dean is missing; has been for a little while now. Last I saw him, he was here and I went to get some food and beer, and I haven't seen him since. Do what you can to find him." 

"Excellent!" Sherlock shot out of the seat and went straight to a computer that was sitting on the table, also pulling out his phone and then beginning to type away. This was good. This was something Sherlock knew how to do. He began his search immediately. Castiel turned to Sam.

"What about my Father and the others?"

"I'll talk to Chuck, see if he'll watch Crowley and Rowena. You good to get us into Hell?" Castiel nodded. "Alright. GIve me a minute." Sam sought out Chuck, who was in the kitchen, rummaging around for only He knew what. He asked him to watch the others, to which he agreed. Minutes later, Castiel stood in front of Sam and Ten, placing a hand on their shoulders. With a deep breath and the muted sound of fluttering feathers, they were gone.

***

Hell was both exactly like what Rose thought it would be, and nothing like it at all. The cell they were being held in was like something you'd find in an old abandoned, and supposedly haunted, sanitorium. Everything was leaky and dirty, complete with a pile of bones, blood and gore that Rose assumed was pretty normal decor for this place. Somewhere, they could hear screams that would not cease, and the smell was foul. From what they could tell, this was a very mild part of Hell.

Rose was sitting on a cot in the corner of the cell with her knees pulled up to her chest and her face buried in her crossed arms. She was worried about Ten. She missed him, and who knew what that demon was doing to him; making him do.

By the cell door, Eleven was using the sonic screwdriver to learn anything he could about it, trying to find a way to get out. Whether he was making any big breakthroughs, Rose didn't know, as she wasn't paying attention. Jack was quietly talking to Eleven as well, adding in his two cents occasionally. He looked up for a moment, and when he saw Rose, he came over to her and, sitting on the edge and placing a hand on her shoulder. He didn't say anything, but the action spoke what was needed. She turned her head to him, and gave him a little smile. 

The comforting moment was broken up by the sounds of scuffling in the hallway leading to their cell. Their were screams of pain, and loud bangs echoing and growing closer. The three of them exchanged looks of confusion and worry. During their stay here, they'd been left fairly well alone. They could still hear far away screams, but nothing close enough to be immersed in. So now that there was action in their hallway, it was a little concerning. However, it was only moments later that Ten was standing in front of the door.

"Rose!" He said, and the concern, relief, and love she heard in her voice told her instantly that it was her Ten.

"Oh my god, is that really you?"

"Yes! I'll explain later; we're going to get you out."

"Who's we?" Ten didn't answer, but instead began fiddling with the lock on the door. Sam came up behind him, and the man who came up followed him was none other than that of the angel they'd witnessed being burnt on the funeral pyre. Without a moments' pause, the formerly dead angel stepped up to the cell door.

Rose, Jack and Eleven all stood and watched in amazement as Castiel grabbed the door handle and ripped the door from its hinges like it was nothing. It was only a second before they snapped out of it, piling out into the hallway. Rose's attention was back on her husband, who she embraced and kissed enthusiastically.

"Everyone hold hands," Castiel said urgently, his voice deep and gravelly. They all quickly complied as Castiel raised his hands. One moment, they were standing in a hallway in Hell, alarms blaring and demons shouting, and the next they were standing in the entryway to the Winchester's Bunker. The landing was so surprising for the others apart from Sam, Castiel and Ten, that the others fell to the ground, Ten only just managing to catch Rose before she fell completely. 

It took them a moment to realize that they were indeed free and safe, but as soon as the realization hit them, they were celebrating. Rose was kissing Ten again, and Eleven was clapping Sam on the shoulder going on excitedly about how what had just transpired could have happened. Jack was all bright smiles and joining in, but stopped when he glanced at Castiel, eyeing him up and down before holding out his hand.

"Captain Jack Harkness. Castiel, right?"

"Stop it!" Both Ten and Eleven said in unison. Castiel merely looked at Jack's hand for a moment, his brows slightly furrowed and causing Jack's smile to falter slightly. Seconds later, Castiel took Jack's hand in his in a firm but gentle grip.

"Yes, that is correct." He looked at both the Doctors, his confusion at their reactions obvious, not really noticing that he still held Jack's hand in his. His attention was drawn back to Jack, however, when the beaming man began speaking again.

"It is very nice to meet you, Castiel. That was very impressive what you did back there. Bet you can do all sorts of fun things with talents like yours." Castiel tilted his head slightly to the side.

"Dean sometimes says I'm awesome when I help on a case, which he enjoys doing, so I suppose that could be considered as fun," he deadpanned. The Doctors, Rose and Sam all chuckled under their breath. Jack cocked his head a little, but his smile didn't falter in the slightest, though it did grow a little.

"Well then, I'd say you and I are going to have to do a little getting to know each other." Castiel didn't respond. Sam raised his eyebrows at the scene playing out in front of him, and suddenly everything was very awkward. At least for him it was; the others seemed to just find it funny and were shaking their heads. That was it, time to get back to business.

"Alright, come on guys. We aren't out of the woods yet. We may have escaped, but we still have some very bad people at large, and to make things worse, Dean is missing. So, let's get to it." Sam started down towards the library. Castiel dropped his hand from Jack's and followed Sam without another word. Jack walked after him, watching him curiously. Rose exchanged glances with both Doctors before they too followed. Only Jack.

***

Whatever Dean had been expecting when he had gone with Amara, it was certainly different than what he had gotten. She had brought him back to where she had been in hiding as she had recuperated, and it definitely left more to be desired. It was a barren industrial warehouse surrounded by fields, farmland, and woods. 

Long story short, Dean was bored. An ancient being like Amara didn't need much in the way of entertainment, content in her solitude and silence; she preferred it that way. But for Dean, he was not the sort to just sit and stare at walls waiting for something to happen. He wanted to do something, not sit and wait. 

It was especially amplified now that he was back to being a demon. And god, did it feel good to be back. Amara had been right. With the Mark of Cain firmly etched into his arm again, his mortal worries just melted away. His brother was worried for and missed him? Tough. He's a grown man, it's time he stood on his own two feet for once. The world was going to end? Not his responsibility anymore. People are dying? They die every day. Nothing has changed. He's lost someone important to him? One less thing to tie him down. For once, he was not a servant to the world or anyone, and instead the world was his playground, and he didn't owe the world or anyone anything. The only thing missing was the First Blade. If he had that, and an occasional kill, things would be awesome.

But at this moment, he was restless. He had wandered around this warehouse enough to be well acquainted with its layout, more so than he ever really wanted to be. He didn't know what Amara was up to, but this was turning out to be kind of a drag. All this freedom given back to him, and he was cooped up by dented mental. He sighed, picking up a rock and tossing it against the wall. He picked up another and tossed it as well, trying to make it go up further and earning loud metallic clanks in response. He had thrown six of them before Amara joined him. She stood watching him, honestly a little perplexed.

"You are unsettled," she said. It was not a question. She couldn't understand it. He was no longer held down by silly human attachments, and he was now bonded to her by the Mark. He should be at peace. Dean sighed again.

"Just sitting around was never my kind of thing. We should go out. Have a few drinks, hustle some cash off of some moron. What do you say?" He stood, giving her his best flirty smirk. However, the gesture was lost on Amara. Like her nephew used to do, her brow pinched together and her head tilted, though hers actually tilted upwards instead of to the side.

"Why would I waste my time with such frivolities that suit no other purpose than distracting me from finding my brother and exacting my revenge?" Dean's smirk fell and much to Amara's surprise, she caught the tail-end of him rolling his eyes.

"Because it's fun. It's something to do instead of just sitting here doing nothing." He threw another rock, a little harder than was strictly necessary. He sighed again. "Look, I get the revenge bit, but in the meantime He's not going to just fall into your lap. Staring at these walls is driving me batty, I gotta do something." He turned away from her, pacing back and forth a little. That old familiar urge to kill was was flaring up again and if he didn't do something soon, he'd be a hell of a force to reckon with.

"Alright, tell you what. I'm going to go out to have a beer. I'll do some research or something. I'll be back in a bit." With that, he walked out of the room, heading out into the sunlight toward the nearest dive bar in town. Amara watched him go, confused and a little upset. Dean was acting strangely. The bond she had with him was still strong, but he didn't act drawn to her specifically now that he had the Mark. He was carefree and brazen, but in a way that puzzled her. Perhaps the bond she had with him was not quite what she had thought it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene where Cas meets Sherlock and Ten was sort of reminiscent of when he met Mary in the first of episode of season 12 of Supernatural. I think that's the only thing in this chapter, but if I missed anything please let me know so I can cite it :) The original scenes belongs to the writers of Supernatural and Doctor Who, and the ones in this story was tweaked to fit the storyline. I do not claim the originals. Any dialogue that the characters use that are also used in the shows ("It's bigger on the inside" for example) belong to their respective writers as well.
> 
> Once again, please ignore the other end notes that are the same for the first chapter :)


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I'd like to take a minute to apologize for how long it has taken to punch this chapter out. There's not really any other explanation I can give other than writer's block mixed with adulthood and depression can sometimes be a very toxic thing to overcome. Hopefully updates won't take as long as this one did. Also, any feedback you have is appreciated. Who knows, you may even just help the story along! Thank you guys, and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Thank you for taking time to read this story, and I really hope you enjoy it. This fanfiction is nonprofit and is simply just an idea I had in passing that wouldn't leave me be. It is solely written for the enjoyment of the fans. I do not own any of the characters in this story, as they belong to their creators: Eric Kripke, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, and Donald Wilson, and any other wonderful minds who might have had a hand in the creation of these shows and characters that I might have missed. Anything that I use from the shows that doesn't belong to me besides the actual characters, such as scenes that are tweaked, will always be referenced at the end of a chapter. No copyright infringement is intended by the writing and creation of this story.

Dean stood alone about a mile away from a campsite outside of town, breathing deeply to try and calm himself. He had managed to sneak away on his own when Sam had gone on a beer and food run, and had since turned off the GPS on his phone so Sam wouldn't be able to track where he was at. With one last deep breath, Dean screwed up his courage and closed his eyes, concentrating.  
"Amara? We need to talk," he called out, also giving out his exact location. There was a few moments of silence before anything really happened.  
"Dean." He turned around to where Amara now stood, her face unreadable.  
"Hey."  
"I must admit, I wasn't expecting to hear from you. Have you reconsidered joining me?" Dean heaved a sigh before answering.  
"I have. But I have a few conditions." Amara cocked her head at this, a puzzled but intrigued look on her face.  
"And what might those be?"  
"If I go with you, you have to leave this world alone. No more killing and no more destruction." Amara gave a little smirk.  
"You do realize that is what I am to the very core don't you? I am the origin of chaos, discord and, well, I'm not called the Darkness for nothing." She stepped closer, only a few feet away.  
"Well, that is the only way I will agree to go with you. I will come peacefully and willingly, just so long as no one else gets hurt and nothing else is destroyed." She came closer still until she was right in front of him, studying his face and contemplating.  
"I could probably manage that." She raised a hand and cupped Dean's face in a gesture that could almost be mistaken as loving if only it wasn't accompanied by the hostility that was the default setting in her eyes. Dean swallowed nervously, but nodded all the same.  
"Ok," He paused, taking a shaky breath. "How do we do this then? Do you ingest my soul or what?"  
"No. You'll be at my side. A companion and comrade, you could say. I'm very glad you came to this decision, Dean. You'll see, it's better for it to be this way." Amara took Dean's right hand in her hand that had been on his face. "All the usual fear you silly creatures experience of the chaotic and unknown will just melt away, leaving behind calm clarity. No more confusion over right and wrong. No more pain, or loss, or sorrow; only peace and freedom." As she spoke, a familiar burning deep in his veins was beginning to travel up his arm. He looked down with a hitch in his breath from the pain. When he saw what was forming just before the crease of his elbow, he looked up abruptly.  
"What are you doing? This wasn't part of the deal!" He tried to pull away, but her grip was unrelentless.  
"You're different from the rest, Dean. As I said before, you and I are bonded. We are meant to be companions, and we will go forth together, find my brother, and take revenge. And once that is done, we can move on. I know this world seems important, but you'll see. It's just ruttish codswallop." As she spoke, the burning in his arm took on the familiar shape that now matched the same mark Amara had on the left side of her chest. Dean grit his teeth and hissed at the pain as the Mark of Cain was left scarred where it had been before. Amara released his hand as the burning ebbed and dissipated, waiting for Dean to adjust.  
He was kneeling now, aware that something was slightly different this time. Immediately, he could feel himself changing. There was nothing gradual about it this time, and his whole body shuddered at the suddenness of it all. It was quiet as he remained kneeling for a moment before slowly standing up again and turning to face her. Amara grinned with satisfaction as Dean's eyes turned black with a blink of his eyes, and he ducked his head to press a deep kiss to her lips, giving in to feelings that drew him to her.

***

"So where are we going, and why exactly are we in our Sunday finest?" John questioned as he followed Sherlock out to the sidewalk, who was now hailing a cab. Sherlock didn't answer right away, instead climbing in and seating himself comfortably, Watson settling beside him.  
"Really, John, I would expect you to be paying more attention. We're going to lunch, and though in this day and age comfort is preferable, a five star restaurant isn't exactly the place for housecoats and pajama trousers."  
"Right, well, you didn't exactly tell me we where we were going and why until just now. A bit hard to know these things when the only information you're given is to dress up nicely."  
"Did I not mention it before?"  
"Honestly, Sherlock, you're the only person I know who can talk to mid-air and get a response without being completely mad. Is there a particular reason for this little excursion?"  
"'The play's the thing', John." And with that, no other explanation was forthcoming. With a final sigh from John, they traveled in silence until they pulled up in front of a restaurant that was very well known for their excellent service, delectable food, impeccable atmosphere, and extravagant prices.  
They went through all of the usual motions of being seated and ordering drinks before they were left to peruse the menu. Before the waitress could come to take their order, Sherlock was up again and making his way over to another table close to theirs where a man dressed in a black suit with a gold tie was sitting along with a company of at least six other men. John watched as Sherlock addressed the man with the gold tie, introducing himself.  
"Prime Minister Saxon, pardon my intrusion, but my associate here," he gestured absently toward where John was still sitting, "was just telling me all about the work you've been doing with Scotland Yard to crack down on crime, and I must say that it is refreshing to see someone finally competent enough to keep up with the mediocrity of the criminal mind besides myself. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Sher-"  
"The great Sherlock Holmes. Yes, I've been informed about you and your crack detective work and over-inflated self-worth, as well as your stuffy aristocratic brother. What were those nicknames again?" Mr. Saxon said, pinching his face together unattractively and snapping his fingers as if that would help refresh his mind. A moment later his whole face lit up with exaggerated realization. "Ah yes! The Virgin and the Ice Man!" The men seated around Saxon's table all chuckled under their breath.  
"Tell me," Saxon said as he leaned in, chin in his hand, "is it hard balancing incompetence with ignorance while being a showboat?"  
"Despite your uncanny appearance out of nowhere into the position you now hold, I'm sure, Mr. Saxon, that you are aware of the reappearance of a criminal mastermind that was previously presumed dead. In all your extensive work with Scotland Yard, have any of the crimes you've prevented or intervened related back to one James Moriarty? Surely with your amount of luck and coincidence, something must have turned up," Sherlock asked. John got up from their table and approached Saxon's as well with an uneasy feeling of how this conversation was going to go.  
"Do my ears deceive me? The great Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in existence, asking for help? And not even from the police, but from a government official! My, how you've fallen," the Prime Misnister replied. He cackled out a laugh, and his companions chuckled along. John had heard enough.  
"A little decorum would be appreciated, sir."  
"John," Sherlock said, his tone easy.  
"No, this is ridiculous. There is no need for petty insults at a mere inquiry," he replied, fixing the Prime Minister with a hard look. No one paid any attention as the waitress came and began to take away dirty plates, obviously trying to do her job without attracting too much attention.  
"Guard dogs can be so trying, can't they?" Saxon quipped, absently tapping out a four beat rhythm on the table with his fingers. John's hands balled into fists at his sides.  
"This may be a fancy restaurant, but it would not be the first time I've added a little color to someones face publicly," He stated, his voice low and serious. Sherlock put a hand on John's shoulder.  
"Yes, that will do, John. Excuse us, gentlemen, we will let you return to your meal. Oh, and please do give him my regards," Sherlock commented with a smirk. Mr. Saxon quirked his lips as well.  
"Which one?"  
"Either will do." And with that, Sherlock gave John a nudge and they returned to their table. John was shaking his head, trying to calm down.  
"Of all the-"  
"It's alright, John, you did marvelously," Sherlock said distractedly as he picked up his menu and began looking it over. John studied him for a moment in confusion, before shaking his head, sighing, and taking up his menu as well, decided not to ask what that could possibly mean. After a few minutes, the new Prime Minister and his band of cohorts left, chatting amongst themselves.  
When next the waitress came to their table, instead of taking the order for their meal, she set two plates in front of them. On Sherlock's plate was chicken alfredo, and on John's plate was steak, rare and bloody. Sherlock and John exchanged a puzzled look.  
"Excuse me, I think there's been some sort of mistake. We haven't actually placed an order yet," John told the waitress before she could walk away. She shook her head in return.  
"Oh no, these were placed and paid for by that group you guys were talking to. I'm sorry, do you want something else?" She offered, looking between the two men. If John didn't know better, he would say that the look she gave Sherlock lingered slightly too long, but he disregarded it. Flirting was lost on Sherlock.  
"No, thank you. Though we will take a box to go," Sherlock said, and handed her his menu. She nodded and took their menus, leaving to get their boxes.  
Boxed meals and a hailed cab later, John and Sherlock were on their way back to Baker Street.  
"So what exactly was that back there, Sherlock?"  
"That was a magic trick, and the crowd played into it beautifully." John waited for further explanation, but per usual, none was forthcoming.  
"Meaning?" John prompted further.  
"Mycroft informed me that this new Prime Minister, who as we know appeared out of nowhere for no reason and without any say from anyone, would be dining at the restaurant we just left today at noon. Ever since we discovered Ten by his side in that interview after we lost contact with both of the Doctors, Rose and Jack, I needed to meet with him to try and glean anything off of him that I could."  
"And what did you find?"  
"His appearance on the scene is odd enough, but why isn't anyone making a big deal out of it? Why is no one batting an eye at it? Upon closer examination of the footage of the interview including Ten, if paused at the right moment, he appears to have black eyes in one of the frames. On Mr. Saxon's left sleeve was a few specks of yellow dust, and the ever so faint aroma of sulfur; barely there, hard to notice unless close and actually looking for it. The WInchesters' lore said sulfur was a sign of demonic activity. Thus, our dear Ten has been possessed and the others are being held against their will.  
Now, the man himself is an interesting specimen. His outfit was of very expensive make, and the meal that he had ordered was the most expensive one on the menu. That, coupled with his boastful and loud behavior, it's apparent that he is very confident in all that he does. He has big plans in the works, and he has help, which is exactly why no one of importance has questioned him or raised alarm. Demons helping him means Lucifer has been in contact with them and they're working together, obviously."  
"And I take it our pre-ordered meals are a joke at our expense?"  
"Yes. However, his little joke was on him." Sherlock opened the container that held the chicken alfredo. Using two fingers, he dug into it before pulling out a key. "He really should pay more attention to his surroundings." John looked between the key and Sherlock.  
"The waitress? It was all a distraction."  
"Indeed; one of my homeless network. It's time to find our new friends." John nodded. Another thought crossed his mind.  
"What did he mean when he asked which one to give your regards to?"  
"That was one more deduction that I made, and it is a very important one."  
"What's that?"  
"The nicknames Mr. Saxon mentioned were given by Moriarty. Our witch hunt just got a little more interesting."

***

The first thing he registered was bright light. Then fresh air as it filled his lungs. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath, as he usually did when this happened. Sitting up, he looked around. He was in a wooded area that he didn't immediately recognize, though he knew he was in Kansas.  
Odd memories floated through his mind in an almost dream-like sequence; blurry in some places, clear in others. He knew what had happened, and yet he was still surprised. But that could be focused on later. For now, there was a presence in the tree line standing idly, watching him. He stood, blinking and wary of this strange being.  
It was in the form of a human girl with blonde hair and intense brown eyes, gold glowing at their center. She was dressed in odd clothes, an almost post-apocalyptic tan dress, with black boots. Her outward appearance may have been human, but that was where the similarities stopped. A blinding gold power source that showed in her eyes hummed at her core, and it sang in melodies otherworldly and ancient. It was beautiful. It did not inhabit a human host, but instead the outer-most layer of the power source had compacted enough to act as a vessel. The being made no move to hurt him, instead just watching him as well.  
"Hello, Castiel." Castiel cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  
"Who are you, and how do you know my name?" The being slowly stepped closer.  
"I have many names, many faces, many forms. Though this one can be a bit confusing at times. In this form, I am Bad Wolf," the girl explained, her tone patient and calm.  
"You're named after a children's story antagonist?"  
"It's unique, and a little clever, if I don't say so myself. Unique names break up the monotony. Much like yours, as well as the other angels'."  
"How did you know that I am an angel? And you did not answer my previous question of how you know my name." The girl smiled.  
"I create myself. I take life, and I give life. I see all. I made all." There was a pause. "Perhaps this will help." One moment the being before him was the blonde girl, and the next she had dissolved into the former prophet, Chuck. Castiel's eyes grew wide as the pieces started to come together.  
"You were never a prophet. You're-"  
"God? Yes." All Castiel could do was soundlessly stare at the being before him. At once, strong emotions overtook him one after another. Awe, fear, confusion, love, sadness and anger all settled at his core. He did not have a clue how to respond, or how to deal with the tumultuous feelings that he thought he was past. All he could do was stare.  
"I know this is a bit much..." Castiel's stare hardened and he glared across the little space between them through the tears that now lined his eyes.  
"Where have you been?" He demanded. He couldn't help the emotion that thickly coated his words. "After all that has happened, what could have happened, why?!" Chuck raised his hands in an attempt to placate Castiel.  
"I know things have been a little rough-" Castiel's voice was low, emotional, and despite who he was talking to, dangerous, when he interrupted.  
"'A little rough'? The world almost died. Your children, human and angel alike, have prayed to you countless times, and you ignored all of it. You left the angels with a world in shambles to run without guidance, and disregarded all cries for help. You threw us all away," He drew in a shaking breath, his lips trembling slightly. "You threw me away. After all the faith I put into you..." Chuck's eyes softened, but he offered no input. This reveal had been a long time in coming, and he knew that it would not be an easy one, for any of them. He stayed quiet, content to let Castiel say or do what he needed. When Chuck made no attempt to explain, Castiel's sadness began to twist into the anger and rage that had long resided in his heart toward his father.  
"You were right there! Right there, watching as we all cleaned up your mess! Sacrificing our lives, everything we had, because you couldn't be bothered!" Castiel shook his head in disbelief. In that moment, Castiel understood why Dean was always at least a little angry, especially when his father was mentioned; why he acted the way he did. Castiel understood, and his heart broke for it. Each breath was heavy and difficult, as if he were physically loaded down with his emotions.  
"I know," Chuck began quietly. "I know. I'm sorry. Truly, I am. I thought if I stepped away, things would fall in to place on their own. And, though you may not see it, or want to see it, I believe that they have, in a way. A child can not learn to stand on its own if the parent does it for them." Chuck stepped closer. "There are no explanations that I could offer that would excuse my silence. I know that. But I did not throw you away. I have brought you back so many times, just as I did here. Of all of my children, you obeyed despite how many times you were corrected or shunned by the other angels. I have heard all of your prayers, but there was no reason to answer the ones asking for guidance. You had the Winchesters for that. I know I've made some wrong decisions, but please, let me try to make up for them now." Castiel looked away, thinking.  
He was still hurt by his father's actions, or rather inaction. Why should he give him a chance, when all the pain that Heaven, humanity, the angels, himself, and the Winchesters had to endure could have been avoided if he had of stepped up? Castiel did see his point, about teaching all of them to stand on their own, but where does the line between teaching and neglect get drawn? He loves his father, but does he deserve this chance? Or should he use the lesson his father was trying to instill, and turn it on him? There was so much gray area to this, much like humanity itself. Though he was unsure of what to do here, he knew who could help. He looked back at his father, his jaw set and his eyes stony.  
"I am not the only you abandoned, and I am certainly not the only you have to make your amends to. We will go and speak with the Winchesters, and we will make our decision then." Chuck nodded, a small smile on his lips.  
"I understand. Thank you." Chuck raised his hand, and with the snap of his fingers, both he and Castiel vanished, only to appear seconds later outside the Winchester's bunker.

***

Back in London and all surrounding areas, just the morning after Sherlock and John's lunchtime adventure, everything was pandemonium. Overnight had brought about an event that no one could make any actual sense of. Phones at police stations and Scotland Yard were ringing off the hook, all with people calling in to report crimes that ranged from a simple robbery, to kidnappings, to murder. The news channels tried to keep up with each new update, but they were popping up quicker than the reporters could keep up; so they kept each update as informed as they could while grabbing at any information they could get.  
The Law was doing their best, but despite their best efforts, they were quickly in over their heads. Each department was stretched as thin as they could manage. The public was demanding an explanation, but there was none to give. It wasn't long before Sherlock's email, and any other way to get into contact with the great consulting detective, was exhausted within a few hours of the day.  
John was immediately contacted and, from the table closest to the window of the cafe next to 221B Baker Street with a sandwich and coffee, Moriarty watched as the pair rushed into a cab and sped off to Scotland Yard. He smiled to himself softly and continued on with his lunch. It was going to be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! You all thought this was my standard outro didn't you? That'll follow after this little bit, I just had a few details about the story I wanted to share. First off, Amara. I kind of tweaked her characterization in this story because, while I liked how she ended up in canon, I also liked the fact that she was the very definition of evil and darkness. So that's the way I kept her. Also, you may notice I throw in some weird off-the-wall words in her vocabulary; this is intentional. I try to add in a few Old English/Medieval words to (attempt) to show her age off a bit. Ok, fun fact (hopefully) about the scene between Sherlock, John, and The Master: that was a dream I'd had (also, if you didn't like it, perhaps that's why? I dunno, just a suggestion). I totally woke up and thought, "Yeah, that seems kinda like something Sherlock would do." Next, Cas is back! I really hope you all like this scene because I felt in canon that not only was the confrontation between Lucifer and Chuck was not near enough, but also that Cas deserved an explanation too. Just because Lucifer had been in Cas' vessel, and Cas was there too, was not good enough a reason to overlook the reunion of Cas and Chuck as well, at least for me it wasn't. I know there's time limits, but still... So naturally I took things in my own hands and hopefully this helps a bit. As far as Bad Wolf goes, that will get explained more later, don't worry. Can't give away all my secrets just yet! And finally, that last scene: well, not really much to say on that yet. Stay tuned! And of course, thank you!
> 
> The scene where Dean meets up with Amara was drawn from episode 21, All in the Family of Supernatural. The scene where Bad Wolf is explaining who she is was drawn from the thirteenth episode of the first series of New Who (revised Doctor Who) and the speech that Bad Wolf makes. The original scenes belongs to the writers of Supernatural and Doctor Who, and the ones in this story was tweaked to fit the storyline. I do not claim the originals. Any dialogue that the characters use that are also used in the shows ("It's bigger on the inside" for example) belong to their respective writers as well.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story, I hope you enjoy it. This fanfiction is nonprofit and is simply just an idea I had in passing that wouldn't leave me be. It is solely written for the enjoyment of the fans. I do not own any of the characters in this story, as they belong to their creators: Eric Kripke, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, and Donald Wilson, and any other wonderful minds who might have had a hand in the creation of these shows and characters that I might have missed. Anything that I use from the shows that doesn't belong to me besides the actual characters, such as scenes that are tweaked, will always be referenced at the end of a chapter. No copyright infringement is intended by the writing and creation of this story.

Explaining about Chuck and Castiel's resurrection to the others had turned out about how you'd think it would. It had been hard for them to accept or believe, but luckily, in the end, Sherlock was still the one that had taken it the worst. Though Sam wasn't sure the Doctors were convinced. They kept at a bit of a distance with the subject, preferring to instead gush over the science of it all. Sam could understand that, and didn't question them on it.

For hours, they had jumped in, trying to help Sherlock track down Dean's where-abouts or anything else that might be helpful. So far they hadn't found anything, and instead, everyone was starting to feel strained and over worked. Rose had gone to bed a few hours ago, and Sam knew that at least he could do with something to eat. A drink wouldn't hurt either. He stood and announced he was taking a break, asking if anyone wanted to join him. In the end, Ten opted for going to bed, Eleven returned to the Tardis, Castiel decided to stay, and Sherlock sat in one of the library chairs silently, not responding to anyone. Jack was the only one to join Sam.

They went to a dive bar Sam had seen some time before and wanted to give a try. And of course Jack was all for new experiences. They both ordered some food and a few drinks, and as the hour ticked on, eventually began a game of pool. Though of course in Sam's case, he began to hustle the other players in order to pad his pockets a bit. Jack caught on to what he was doing within the first few minutes, and much to Sam's relief, actually played along. 

It was around midnight or so. Sam, about to take his shot in the current game, just happened to look up, eyes passing over one of the corners. Had it been anyone else, they might not have noticed him. However, Sam knew him better than anyone, and knew exactly when he saw Dean, half in the shadows of the corner flirting heavily with some girl. Sam stood up immediately, forgetting the game. Noticing his actions, Jack followed his gaze. When he, too, saw the source of Sam's behavior, he followed closely behind. The disgruntled objections of their opponents forgotten as soon as they were voiced. It was only a few long Moose strides and Sam and Jack were standing opposite Dean.

"Dean? What the hell, man, we've been looking everywhere for you!" Dean turned a glare on his brother, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Well, now you know where I am. You can leave now." With that, Dean turned back to his beautiful conquest. Sam tried to step closer, grabbing Dean's arm to hold his attention.

"Dean, what-," was all that he got out before Dean's fist connected with his mouth. Sam was pushed to the side and backwards slightly, taken by surprise by the force of the hit and scrambling to keep his footing. Jack held him on his feet, almost as blindsided by the blow as Sam. The girl Dean had been talking to shrieked and rushed to get away, muttering something about Dean being insane. Sam straightened and gingerly touched his jaw. He would have a nice bruise there come morning. 

"Dean?" He watched with wide eyes as Dean glared after the girl's retreating figure.

"Great. There goes THAT opportunity," Dean said, snatching his beer off the bartop and beginning to walk away. Sam grabbed at his arm again, this time ready for any other blows. But the blow that came was not one he could have ever been prepared for.

"Dean! Seriously, what's gotten into-" he cut off again and yanked his hand away from Dean's arm as though it had been burned. There, just before the crease of Dean's elbow was the Mark of Cain. Sam looked from the Mark to Dean's face, horror written on his own.

"How?"

"Doesn't matter. All that matters is I'm back, and it's awesome." With that, he downed the rest of his beer, put the bottle harshly on the counter-top, and turned to walk away.

"Now wait a minute, Big Guy, surely whatever has happened we can work it out. Why don't you order a drink, we'll do the same, and we'll sit down and chat, huh?" Jack suggested, trying to put on the charm and keep things lighthearted. He put his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean stopped, grabbed Jack's wrist and twisted it, eliciting a sickening crack. Jack let out a yell, and now the whole bar was watching the scene play out. Jack pulled his broken wrist to his chest and watched as Dean glared at them both.

"Let's get one thing clear. I'm not coming back with you guys, and we're not going to talk anything out. This is your one, and only, warning. Stay the hell away from me. Or I'll make Hell look like a paradise vacation." And with that, Dean turned again and stalked away. Jack looked in shock at Sam, but Sam made no move to follow Dean. Instead he watched as he walked away, his heart sinking further and further with each step his brother took.

"Sam?" Jack asked tentatively.

"Come on, let's get back to the others."

"But what about your brother?" Sam sighed quietly.

"That's not my brother anymore."

***

Depending on one's point of view, it was either very late, or very early. But Rose found that after she'd woken up randomly in the night that she didn't really feel like going back to sleep right away. She was wandering down the halls towards the kitchen, seeking out a drink of some sort before heading back to bed, and assumed that due to the late hour that she would be the only one up. She was wrong in this assumption and was a little surprised to see none other than Castiel sitting in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. He didn't seem to be doing anything; merely staring off at nothing.

She stood in the doorway, unsure if she should disturb him or leave him be as he didn't seem to have noticed her presence yet. She didn't know exactly how to react around Castiel. He was definitely a strange guy; and the fact he had come back from the grave certainly didn't really help matters (despite her knowing that Jack could do the same). She deliberated, almost deciding that it would be best to forget the drink and just go lay back down. But when Castiel spoke, it startled a little jump out of her.

"If it would make you more comfortable, I can relocate." Rose blew out a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. How he knew she was there she did not know - must be an angel thing- but she could not just walk away now.

"No, that's alright. I was just coming in to get a drink." She took a few steps in, watching him. He did nothing, not even turning to look at her as she entered, nor when he spoke.

"Sam usually insists there be some sort of healthy alternative to beer or soda. Unless things have changed in my absence, I would assume that there is juice of some sort or bottled water in the fridge." His voice was gravelly and monotone, and Rose thought it sounded a little tired. He definitely wasn't anything like she had expected.

"Oh, thanks." She slowly came around the table, towards the fridge. When she turned her attention to the fridge, she found one of the bottles of water the Angel had talked about. She stood straight again, drinking some of it and debating whether she should go back to bed or not. In the end, her curiosity finally won out. She approached an empty chair across from him.

"Mind if I join you?" She asked, bolstering her confidence. Castiel looked to her with tired eyes and quirked his lips ever so slightly.

"Of course," he said, gesturing to the chair, which she took a seat in. Rose played with the bottle in her hands for a minute as they sat in silence.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Castiel looked to her with his big blue eyes.

"No, I, uh, don't actually sleep. It serves no purpose for my biology."

"Ah. So I suppose eating and drinking are out too, then?"

"Yes."

"Hm." They lapsed into silence, and Rose looked around the room. She couldn't tell if he found her presence annoying or if he was indifferent to her. Either way, she tried again.

"How are you feeling, after... you know..." she ventured, not really wanting to say it outright as she was sure it was a sore topic.

"Fine, actually. Thank you. Much better than before, and of course, it's wonderful to have my wings back," he replied, though the tiny smile he gave didn't quite reach his eyes.

"No offense, but it seems like there's more to it than just that. Is there something still wrong?" He glanced away, looking as though carefully choosing his words.

"I'm still just disoriented from the resurrection. I should be fine with some time." Rose knew this was a lie the moment the words started to leave his lips.

"It's okay, you can trust me. You can tell me the truth." Castiel looked down, pursing his lips and then sighing.

"I am worried. I don't know how much of the history between the Winchesters and I you know of, but we have come a long way down a hard and painful road. And now, with all these threats looming over-head, and now with Dean missing," he shook his head slightly, looking down. "Dean and Sam; they're the best people I have ever come into contact with. They've given so much of themselves for the rest of the world, and I just want them to have peace."

"You really care about them, huh?"

"They're my family." That thought rested between them as they went silent again while Rose took another drink from the bottle in her hands.

"They really care about you too, you know," she said quietly. Castiel only hummed with the slight nod of his head, staring at the table.

"Really, though. When they came back after trying to rescue you, they took it very hard, especially Dean. But now that you're back, the excitement is palpable. And just wait until we find Dean; he'll be eccstatic."

"I hope you are right." It was at that moment that they heard the door to the bunker closing in the main room loudly, signaling Sam nd Jack's return. However, they weren't expecting to hear Sam calling out to Castiel, obviously distressed about something. Rose, who could just barely make out Sam's shout, followed as Castiel was up in an instant and hurrying to the main room. Both were equally surprised when they saw the shape the two boys were in; Sam with an ever darkening shiner and bruised cheek and Jack keeping his arm tucked close into himself.

"What happened?" Castiel asked, immediately tense.

"We found Dean," answered Sam, and though this should have been happy news, they instantly knew something was wrong.

"Where is he? What happened?" pressed Castiel, growing more concerned, stepping forward and raising his hand to Sam to heal him.

"I don't know how it happened, but he's-," Sam held the bridge of his nose for a second, taking a second. "He's got the Mark of Cain again." Much like Castiel's hand, the statement hung heavy in the air, sinking in slowly.

"What- how?" the Angel stumbled over his words, having a hard time comprehending what he was hearing. He continued the task of healing Sam, the bruises disappearing instantly.

"It was Amara." They all turned sharply, looking to Chuck who had just entered the room.

"What do you mean 'it was Amara'?" Sam demanded.

"When Amara was offering that she and him become one, she wasn't talking about absorbing him like she did the other souls. She's seeking companionship, and because of the Mark she feels like she and Dean are a good match. What better way for them to see eye-to-eye, so to speak, than to take away the very things that make him human. Which is essentially what the Mark does to someone," explained Chuck. Castiel, remembering Jack's injuries as well, came up to him slowly, raising his hand once more.

"How did Amara even find Dean?" he mused, placing his fingers to Jack's head and healing him in record time, just as he had Sam. Jack clapped him on the shoulder in a thankful gesture; however, the look he gave Cas just downright flirty, making Cas squint at him in confusion. Sam just shook his head at the exchange.

"I don't know, but we've got to do something. Go wake up the others, and meet back here. We've got to get a game plan going." Moments later, they were all gathered in the library again, much like the first time. And much like the first time, with a few exceptions, they came up with a plan on how to tackle Dean, and if they played their cards right, maybe a shot at Amara. Neither Sam nor Castiel liked it at all, rejecting it immediately, but it was a shot that just might work.

***

The collaboration between The Master and Moriarty was a dance in which they excelled at. While Moriarty continued to wreak havoc with his network of criminals, The Master "kept the spirits of the good people alive". Prime Minister Saxon took to the stands, stating in interviews that the crime waves were a horrible, but he knew the people could hold their own in these trying times.

"Despite the terrors that lurk in our communities, we can prevail. We must stand up and eradicate the weak points in our societies. As we speak, police forces are buzzing around attempting to take control of the situation. But we, too, can do our part. The wrong must punished. I'm excited for our future and the execution of the feeble facets of mankind," Saxon said in his speech, delivered with conviction and a smug smile. The people ate up his words, and he was hailed as a strong commendable man.

People were beginning to distract themselves from the bad, turning a blind eye. Trends (which were started by the Master and his lackies, unbeknownst to the public) began to pop up, prompting opposing opinions among everyone, friend and stranger alike. Those opposing opinions led to fighting, and in some instances caused such rage that there was physical violence. The sheep were being led, and the wolf was the shepherd, who had only just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene where Deanmon and Sam meet up for the first time is similar to that of episode 2 of season 10 of Supernatural, Reichenbach, where they canonically meet for the first time as well, but in a different way. The original scene belongs to the writers of Supernatural, and the one in this story was tweaked to fit the storyline. I do not claim the original. Any dialogue that the characters use that are also used in the shows ("It's bigger on the inside" for example) belong to their respective writers as well.
> 
> Ok, so there's chapter 9. I'll be honest, I'm a little iffy on this chapter because I feel like it's not up to the standard I was hoping it would be. However, the past month or so has been a bit of a rough patch, and I'm sorry if it's not really up to par. I'll try to do better in the other chapters, but I at least wanted to go ahead and get this posted. Anyway, until next time, bye!


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooo, I'm back. I apologize once again for the long delay in posting. As I said in another fic of mine, Life waits for no author. By the way, I'd like to apologize for the numbering of the chapters. I'm not sure what exactly happened that got it off track but I'm working on getting it fixed, so please just ignore it for now. Anyway, let's jump right in.
> 
> Thank you for taking time to read this story, and I really hope you enjoy it. This fanfiction is nonprofit and is simply just an idea I had in passing that wouldn't leave me be. It is solely written for the enjoyment of the fans. I do not own any of the characters in this story, as they belong to their creators: Eric Kripke, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, and Donald Wilson, and any other wonderful minds who might have had a hand in the creation of these shows and characters that I might have missed. Anything that I use from the shows that doesn't belong to me besides the actual characters, such as scenes that are tweaked, will always be referenced at the end of a chapter. No copyright infringement is intended by the writing and creation of this story.

The final details of the plan were being drawn out when Sherlock's phone rang out. He stepped out into the hall when he saw that it was John calling.

"John, excellent timing. Something has come up that I need your assist-" he started but was immediately cut of. 

"Sherlock, shut up a minute and listen to me!" John drew in a deep, shakey breath. "Something's happened." Everything around Sherlock seemed to come to a complete halt. 

"What? What is it? What's happened?" There was a beat of silence before John answered, barely able to say anything with how much emotion was in his voice.

"Mary, she's... she's dead." John cleared his throat, obviously trying to keep tears at bay. The blood in Sherlock's veins ran cold.

"What?"

"A demon; it possessed her. 'Said that it'd been sent over to deliver a message. That we were all going to burn, that when they find where the rest are that we are all dead, starting with Mary. And then it-" He cut off with a muffled sob.

"John, listen to me. Where are you? Where is Rosie?"

"We're- I think we're safe for the time being. I took us to a small hotel chosen at random. But I don't think we can go out, I'm sure they're watching for us. God, Sherlock-" John's voice cracked and Sherlock could tell he was just barely holding it together.

"Don't go out and stay where you are. Text me your location and we will come and get you. It's going to be okay, John." John did not answer apart from a small whimper. "Text me the location, we will be there shortly. I'm on my way, John." He said again, and with that Sherlock hung up the phone and rushed into the other room to tell the others. The Doctor took Sherlock, accompanied by Rose, to go and collect John and Rosie.

They were in a small little hotel, a good deal away from where John would have usually avoided, in an attempt to avoid suspicion. John was disheveled and fit to be tied. His eyes were red and puffy and he absolutely refused to let go of Rosie, who slept peacefully, ignorant of the goings on around her in her father's arms. Rose, The Doctor and Sherlock quickly gathered the few belongings that John had brought with them. Fifteen minutes later they were back at the Bunker.

After much coaxing, Rose was able to convince John to let her look after Rosie, taking her to let her sleep in a makeshift crib Sam had managed to make into an impromptu crib. Castiel had doubled checked her and deemed her perfectly healthy, even gaining a little smile out of him. After checking on Rosie, Castiel took it upon himself to look into John's well-being as well. However, as John was becoming more aware of his surroundings, he couldn't believe his eyes when he saw Castiel standing before him very much not-dead.

"How is that even possible?"

"My Father brought me back." There was a moment as this sank in, and a hopeful gleam bloomed in John's eyes.

"If he brought you back, then he could bring Mary back." Castiel said nothing but looked down and away from him. Chuck, who had come into the room with a cup of coffee, took a swig of the drink, conveniently occupying his mouth so as not to say anything. Sam watched the exchange off to the side with his arms crossed and looking between the two men.

"Could you do it?" Sam finally asked, curious at the others' reaction. Chuck finished his coffee up and cleared his throat, finally looking them in the eye with a sober look.

"No, I couldn't."

"The bloody hell, you can't!" John suddenly shouted, hurt anger seething in his eyes. But while the others flinched, Castiel and Chuck did not. Castiel continued to look somber and regretful, while Chuck was simply emotionless, not looking away from John's scathing glare.

"Actually, they really can't," Eleven suddenly chimed in. All eyes turned to him.

"Oh, and why the hell not? Please, tell me why the one who supposedly created the world suddenly can not bring my wife back to life, but he can bring back someone I watched burn into a rubbish pile of ashes!"

"It was written and read, and so it can not be changed." John stared dumbfounded for a moment.

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"Spoilers."

"The great adventures of Sherlock Holmes and his companion John Watson are extremely popular books. Thousands upon thousands of people have read those stories, and as such there are certain - events- that are concrete happenings. They can not be changed. It is one of the rules of the universe," Ten supplied, explaining further. "I'm so sorry." John's breathing was heavy and it was a very good thing that the phrase "if looks could kill" was only just a phrase.

"You-hmmmm," John couldn't even finish the thought he'd started to say, shaking his head and trying desperately to get his breathing under control. 

"John," Sherlock said, warning laced into the name. John said nothing, but instead suddenly swiped several items (books, papers, and a bottle or two of beer someone hadn't quite finished yet) off the edge of the table. Several hands came forward to try and stop him, but John was swiping through the air with his fists, not caring where they landed. He only stopped when his fist connected, and stopped abruptly, on Castiel's jaw.

Much like the time Dean had punched Castiel in the "Green Room", Castiel's face twisted to the side and John's hand took all the damage. His knuckles cracked and broke against his face. He hollered and pain, holding his hand to his chest. Castiel simply straightened back to look at him, his expression indifferent as if he hadn't just taken a fist to the face. Without another thought, he raised his hand and brought two of his fingers to John's forehead. At that simple touch, John went limp, his eyes slipped closed, and he lay in a heap on the floor, sound asleep.

"John. John!" Sherlock immediately was at his side, checking him to make sure he was still alive.

"He's alright, Sherlock. He's just sleeping," Sam said, stooping by his side.

"He should wake in a few hours. I'll take him to a room," Castiel stated as he leaned down and, laying a hand on John's arm, teleported him to one of the many rooms in the bunker. 

When he woke a few hours later, as Castiel had said, John came out of it groggy and disoriented. Sherlock was sat in a chair off to the side of the bed, staring silently into space. John sat up, groaning and rubbing his face and trying to wake up more fully. He'd gotten a very good rest, but emotionally he was still drained and the unexpected nap had reduced his temper into a pounding headache. It was unfair. Mary had deserved better.

"How are you feeling?" John shook his head in response to Sherlock's question.

"My head is killing me." It took him another minute of rubbing his face before he realized that his hand did not hurt and seemed to be perfectly fine. He stretched it out and flexed it, confused.

"The Angel healed it when he moved you. After he put you to sleep," Sherlock supplied. John nodded, acknowledging this with a hum. Silence filled the room, John unsure what to say, and Sherlock being his usual enigmatic self. Minutes passed before Sherlock suddenly broke the silence.

"How would you feel about capturing a demon?" John looked up immediately, his headache momentarily forgotten. His anger flared slightly at the mention of a demon.

"I'm listening."

***

John finished drawing out the Devil's trap on the ground while Sherlock finished putting together the summoning spell that Crowley had given them. John went over to stand behind the table Sherlock was  
working at to wait and see if this would work. After all, Dean wasn't just any run-of-the-mill demon. He was a Knight of Hell; one powered by none other than the Mark of Cain itself. However, working in their favor was that despite his elevated rank, a demon is still a demon.

Sherlock said the spell and then lit the bowl of ingredients, reeking of sulfer, on fire and watching as it momentarily sparked and crackled. For a long drawn out moment, nothing happened and both men were afraid that the spell had not worked. But another thirty seconds later, the room of that old warehouse where the Winchesters had met The Doctor began to shutter ever so slightly. The men blinked and there, standing in the middle of the Devil's trap and glaring with fierce green eyes, was Dean Winchester.

"Well, well. If it isn't Tweedle Dick and Tweedle Dumbass."

"Oh, do shut up. We know you don't like us, you don't have to waste all of our time with your dim-witted insults," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. Dean only glared with humorless eyes.

"There a reason you dragged me here, or am I going to have to bust out of this trap and rip your lungs out?"

"Actually, yes. We've got a little proposition for you." Dean scoffed.

"If Sammy's got you here to get me back, he's wasting his and your time. I'm not coming back. Not this time."

"Actually, quite the contrary. We aren't here to bring you back. We're here to make a deal." Dean laughed.

"Do I look like a Crossroad Demon to you?" With a smirk, Dean blinked and his green eyes transformed into fathomless black pits. Sherlock, however, didn't bat an eye, so to speak, and ignored this question.

"We want you to help us stop the Darkness and put a stop to the other malefactors."

"Yeah? And what, after that Sam shoots me up with blood again to bring his dear old brother back? If it hadn't of been for the Angel, he wouldn't have succeeded the last time, what makes you all think you'll succeed without him?"

"Look around you. Your brother is not here. No, rather, we are here instead, and WE are the ones making this offer. We won't come after you in the end."

"Oh, and I'm supposed to just take your word for it? You're a hero. You're going to try and 'save me', 'cuz it's hardwired into your very existence. It is why you do what you do." Sherlock stared into the black pits without hesitation.

"Look me in the eye and believe me when I tell you that I do not care one way or another whether you're cured or not. I am not a hero, I'm a man with an addiction to solving problems. And this is a problem to which you are but a mean to an end. After it's all said and done, I do not care what state you carry out the rest of your existence in. Whether or not the same can be said for your brother and Angel is dependent on them, but as far as my deal with you, your cure is not part of it. Now, will you, or will you not help us?" The next few minutes were filled with a tense silence before Dean answered.

"And why exactly would I help you? I don't care one way or another who wins."

"Simple. You're not in any of this for power, or money, or any of the usual motives. No, instead you are a man free from your previous cares that held you down and tortured you. Now, even though she's the one who freed you, being the companion to someone when all you want is to be left alone is like having a rock in your shoe. So, we get rid of the Darkness, then you're free to go on as you choose they way you want without answering to anyone. The rest of them, well," Sherlock said, shrugging. "They're just an additional bonus round to the game." Dean stared him down, John watching them both tensely.

"So, do we have a deal?"

"What exactly do you have in mind?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. Thoughts? I hope you are all still enjoying this, and I'm trying to keep up on all fics that I have going on and even have some others that I may eventually write, including maybe, MAYBE, a sequel to this one. We shall see :) Per the usual, I do not claim the original lines or characters. Any dialogue that the characters use that are also used in the shows ("It's bigger on the inside" for example) belong to their respective writers as well.  
> Thank you for reading! You guys are awesome!

**Author's Note:**

> In this first chapter, I used the scene from Supernatural season 11, episode 18, where the Winchesters and Crowley are discussing the Hand of God, whether to save Castiel or not, and where Amara uses her powers to attack Heaven as a starting point for this story. Those scenes and events belong to the creators and writers of Supernatural, and I do not claim them. They were merely tweaked to fit this story. Any dialogue that the characters use that are also used in the shows ("It's bigger on the inside" for example) belong to their respective writers as well.


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